Degrees of Inheritance
by Elyvern
Summary: A seven-year war has left strangers wearing the faces of loved ones, and souls struggling to find themselves even as they seek to reconnect with each other. But the past is a harsh mistress, especially when it is encoded into your body. Post-ME2. ME3-AU.
1. Chapter 1 Part 1

**A/N: **I don't own any of these characters. Bioware does. A big thank you to Ieldra from the Bioware Social Network forums for beta-reading this, as well as providing invaluable feedback and acting as a sounding board for my ideas.

As more and more information for ME3 hit the net, my timeline has become impossibly divergent to the point that the differences can't be reconciled anymore. When I started writing this story, I came to realise that I couldn't do it without making some permanent changes, and the alternative was to wait until ME3 was released to write it. But that's in the future, and I may not even care enough for the characters and the universe by that time. Win some, lose some, I guess.

All I can say is I hope that I have convincingly created a believable and detailed alternate universe that lets this piece ring true on some level, and the trials and tribulations of the characters are portrayed in such a way that readers can identify and empathise with.

* * *

_Excerpt from _An Overview of the Reaper War_ by Ralia T'Orani:_

_All in all, the Reaper War lasted seven years. They materialised out of deep space three years after the then-Lieutenant Commander John Shepard led a strike force that ended in the incapacitation of the Collector base, the Reapers' servant race stronghold at the galactic core. It could be argued that that act prompted the enemy to make their decisive move. The Reapers' inability to access the hidden mass relay in the Citadel after the Battle of 2183 allowed the relay network to stay functional for the first few years. Even so, the speed of their initial assault and the complacency of the Council culminated in a ferocious battle in space around the Citadel in 2188. _

_The monolithic space station was obliterated, bombarded by the turian navy to prevent the relay switch from falling into Reaper control. It was at this point when the sapient races realised throwing entire fleets at every Reaper was a war that could never be won. Pin-point strikes with the sole aim of landing a team onboard every Reaper to overload their mass effect cores was the only viable tactic. The only problem was once the Reapers became aware of the tactic, they sped up the rate of indoctrination, one of their most potent weapons, reducing organic troops to mindless drones in a matter of hours. _

_The details of Reaper indoctrination surfaced as a series of classified files released by the human Alliance at this time, and a scientific team was hurriedly put together to devise a solution against it. The source of the mental contamination was determined to be caused by a combination of nanites and dark energy waves. Using humans as a baseline, the team scrambled to create a bio-synthetic vaccine, testing it on themselves before creating versions that could work with the physiologies of different species. _

**Chapter 1**

_**2195 CE, New Canton (Present Day)**_

_The work's done. _

_Let's just go away. Far away. To a place where no one can find us…_

New Canton was the closest approximation of such a place, located in a binary system on the edge of the Voyager Cluster. More to the point, it was a terrestrial moon four-fifth the size of Earth, one of twenty-three orbiting Zephyr, a gas giant, which in turn circumnavigated twin stars, a yellow giant and a brown dwarf, every two solar years or so.

The nights were never dark, especially when the luminescent gas giant emerged over the terminator, and nearby sodium moons, some twice the size of Canton, reflected brilliant starlight back. It was a nocturnal world with native biological activity taking place mostly after the sun set, an arrangement that suited diurnals like human beings just fine.

The sparse forests and grasslands covering much of the planet gave way easily to powered machinery during the sleepy days. New Canton was a budding biosphere on the verge of ecological breakthrough, flora development having reached a level capable of sustaining larger fauna. External intervention in the form of human colonisation meant that may never happen; its point-eight standard gravity playing factor in animal life growing to big proportions if left unchecked.

The main colony had a population of about one million. As destinations for real estate and life prospects go, New Canton didn't exactly top any list. Insect life was non-existent, but the planet retained an arsenal of surprises in the form of robust microbial life. Prospective colonists had to undergo intensive screening to ascertain their ability to live on the planet, and then subject themselves to painful sessions of antibiotics treatment, even gene therapy, before release onto the colony.

Even less desirable in terms of attraction were the satellite colonies established on the hinterlands: small towns sustaining on bare necessities, salvaged wire and spit. Three years ago, New Canton, along with other settlements in this part of the Terminus Systems were given up as lost to the Reapers. Six months ago, the original inhabitants began reclaiming the place, including one fringe colony known as Fraser's Rest.

John Shepard, one-time saviour-of-the-galaxy, ran a hand through bristly black hair grown past his customary buzz cut as he dropped the hovertruck neatly into the garage. A propensity for heavy beard growth with facial features knocked askance too many times gave him the look of a thug, until one happened to catch the unmitigated attention of his penetrating gaze.

His passenger exited the vehicle on the other side. Shan gave a nod of thanks for the ride, a smart jerk of the head from a younger man who otherwise looked as dishevelled as Shepard did.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Sir. Same time."

"Same place. And stop calling me that, Shan. I left that life behind."

"Yessir—I mean, yeah."

Shan heaved his rucksack higher on his shoulders and walked down the gravel footpath to an intersection before heading towards the darkened mass of a small pre-fabricated living module on the far side of the enclave.

The setting of the sun brought a fast chill to the springtime air. On a planet with a two solar-year orbit, summer wouldn't arrive for four months yet. Shepard walked briskly out of the garage, wiping his stubbled face with the bottom of a sweat-drenched shirt.

He'd spent most of the day staking out boundaries on what would hopefully become productive farmland. In any fringe colony, the fastest way to get work done was to go at it manually. Today's work involved simply setting up fence posts around all the plots, which would then have to be strung and wired up. It was backbreaking work, even for an ex-commando.

He swore to himself he'd get the hang of this farming business, but one month into the apprenticeship, he continued to stumble over simple obstacles an ordinary farmer wouldn't think twice about. The best soldier Earth ever produced, adept in the use of high-tech weaponry and commandeering star-ships from frigates to dreadnaughts, yet he was stumped over how to operate a plough-sledge.

Tomorrow he'd figure it out, but today's battle was over and he looked forward to rest and catching up with the companion who shared his life now. It was becoming a daily routine, one that let him almost forget the existence of the van that shadowed his movements constantly, and was now in fact hovering near the ground without lights at the end of the compound. Staring at the vehicle, he was made aware of the stiffening in his back muscles, years of abuse and use of combat enhancements beginning to take its toll on his body.

Wrestling his arms to ease some feeling back, Shepard walked the last turning on the path. As he'd expected, she was sitting on the stairs wearing one of his sweaters, arms tucked close to her body to keep warm.

He cocked his head and grinned at the endearing sight of her in the oversized pullover.

"Am I entitled to the warm, fuzzy feeling that comes from knowing you're waiting for me?"

An involuntary smile ghosted across Miranda's lips.

"Are you sure that's not the beer talking?"

"It's possible, except I haven't had any yet."

She rose and stretched. "Fine, you _are_ entitled, but only for a few seconds."

Arms clasped around herself, she descended the steps to stand next to Shepard, taking in the stunning view of the gas giant emerging overhead. "I came out for a study break thinking I'd wait for you. And realised I'd almost forgotten what it's like being on a planet; the endless horizon, the sunsets…"

They stood in companionable silence, lulled by the night sounds of the planet.

"Do you think Earth will ever recover?" she finally asked softly.

A muscle on Shepard's jaw jumped. Miranda glanced at him when he failed to respond after a while. The cords on his neck stood in relief, and his eyes had that far away look that said he was taking a trip down memory lane. She reached a hand out to shake him lightly.

"John?"

He came back to himself with a jerk.

Rubbing his face with a shaky hand, he muttered, "Sorry, didn't mean to do that. Had a combat flashback."

Miranda looked at him with a thoughtful frown.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

He gave a bark of a laugh.

"Not now. And definitely not here."

To make the point, he stamped his feet on the ground a few times, trying to drive the creeping cold away.

She studied him in the bright twilight, and then relented.

"Let's go in. Dinner's ready. On second thought," she laid hands on his shoulders and gave him a gentle shove, nose crinkling. "Shower. First. You stink."

Shepard grinned and allowed himself to be chivvied in.

There was no helping the pre-fabricated living units they had to live in, Miranda's decided lack of enthusiasm for them notwithstanding. Personally, Shepard had to agree, although his reservation involved the walls being too flimsy and indefensible. His unease probably stemmed from the rules that'd kept him alive all these years, and he'd made sure to install kinetic barriers even if that meant needing a bigger energy generator.

Other drawbacks to living in a frontier world existed, but fortunately, the lack of an honest-to-goodness traditional shower wasn't one of them. Shepard set the spray of the water to the maximum and turned the heat up high. In a very short time, the cubicle was filled with steam, and the pounding rush worked to massage the knots in his muscles.

Like the thin walls of the shelter that blocked off the elements, memories from the past felt like they were just a hand's span away. Leaning against the wall of the small enclosure and breathing in the damp, all it took was a mental step and he was back there again.

-~o~-

_**2195 CE, Arcturus Station**_

It'd been six months since the Reaper War was declared over. He'd arrived in Arcturus station on the dreadnaught _Kilimanjaro_ accompanied by a bevy of admirals, generals and their staff. In a sign of newfound solidarity, the Systems Alliance government had graciously invited alien ambassadors to set foot on the station. They were feted out with pomp, and taken on diplomatic tours while outside the view ports, what few undamaged ships the Systems Alliance, the Turian Hegemony and Asari Republics had hung glittering like so many toy models in space.

As spokesman for humanity, he'd had to put on a hastily-tailored dress uniform to direct the tours and oversee the signing of innumerable peace and trade treaties. Commemorations were made on these landmark occasions, holo-vids snapped for posterity and extranet news companies. But once the aliens were sufficiently dined and wined, hustled onto their ships and back to their home-worlds, reality intruded in.

It wasn't a tribunal, but he stood alone in parade-rest stance, wearing a dress uniform he'd lived in for the past few weeks. Military brass was a minority. Instead, the room was filled with civilians from the Alliance Parliament: suited ambassadors of Earth's most powerful nations, diplomats, lawyers and their lackeys. It was the culmination of four days of deliberation.

The parliamentary representative, an olive-skinned woman, rose and cleared her throat.

"Rear Admiral John Shepard, it is with great regret that we inform you of the need to strip you of your rank and authority. This is in preparation for a public hearing which will seek to address the actions you took beginning in the Skyllian Verge, and culminating in a manoeuvre directly responsible for the deaths of half of Earth's inhabitants, five billion lives to be specific."

He'd known it was coming, but seeing it played out in real time, it took everything within him to maintain an impassive front.

"Understand that we have been fully apprised of the situation concerned. I would like to stress that blame hasn't been assigned. Due to more pressing issues, an investigative panel would likely convene in twelve months earliest. For that reason, the change in your status will stay unofficial. Your rights as a citizen of Earth remain intact in accordance to the Systems Alliance Constitution. To that end, you are free to go about your business, on the condition that you will subject yourself to 24-hour surveillance as safeguard against all eventualities."

So this was it. A decision that began with accepting the unenviable responsibility of command to save the galaxy was now ending with a life in a mired limbo while political shuffling and finger-pointing went above his head. He clenched his hands in a knuckle-white grip and tried to clamp down his outrage while muted coughs filled the room.

"The Alliance Parliament has spoken. If there are no—"

Shepard stepped to attention.

"Yes, what is it, Ad-Citizen?"

"I'm guessing you decided an unofficial dismissal was the best way to avoid rousing public sentiments, some bald-faced notion of damage control against objections coming from say, the alien ambassadors that just left this station?"

The representative's face darkened, even as he continued.

"How about I make it easier for you? I hereby resign my commission. You can announce that to every newsfeed in the galaxy. Feel free to slap me behind bars and spare my guards the boredom of watching me dick around. Anything but more weasel-words and political bullshitting."

"There isn't a need for you to "make it easier", Citizen Shepard. We are more than-"

At the end of his tether, Shepard spun abruptly and exited the room. Shocked silence was broken by numerous footsteps echoing after him in the empty corridor. _Do it_, he goaded them silently, _arrest me. Let this farce be over_.

"Shepard!"

Admiral Hackett overtook him and placed a hand on his arm. Shepard turned to see a number of people trailing them, including the two marines newly-assigned as his personal "bodyguards". The older man turned around to glare at them, and meekly, they stepped back in line with his aides.

"I'm sorry, Shepard." Hackett said, his gravelly voice deeper than usual.

"It doesn't matter, sir." He couldn't help the honorific. Shepard kept walking, forcing the older man to keep up with him. It wasn't a polite way to treat a partisan, but he feared the anger within him lashing out in an uncontrolled manner. Walking helped disperse it, and Hackett let him have his way, content with simply accompanying him.

After crossing several corridors, he stopped and said, "I was just making a petty stand back there." Leaning against a cool metal wall, he rubbed his eyes tiredly. "They are right. I shouldn't have gambled on winning the war with the lives of billions."

Hackett frowned as he thrust both hands into his pant pockets.

"Damn Mikhailovich that idiot for insisting you take full responsibility. But it doesn't change the fact that those people in there are looking for a political scapegoat to sling shit at. That damning log-recording was just the most convenient pile at hand. We won because you made the right call. And I'm going to make them hear it every day till they get sick of it."

"Sir, I appreciate the support." Shepard finally looked up. "But even if this shit storm didn't happen, I can't see myself with the Alliance any longer. I meant what I said, I'm resigning my commission."

Hackett pursed his lips. "I won't say anything. Send in your resignation, but it'll sit on my desk for the time being. I'd advise you to take this time to consider. It'll be many months before things are set into motion, and there's still leverage to work on."

"Don't destroy your career over this, sir. It's not worth it."

"You leave me to decide on that. What are your plans for now?"

Pushing himself off the wall, Shepard kept walking again, Hackett beside him.

"Honestly, I don't know." He was at loss for words. "I just want out right now. Find a quiet place far away from here."

"I'll make sure you get what you want, son."

"Also, there's... one other person I'm hoping can accompany me."

Hackett looked at him shrewdly. In five years of working together, Shepard found there was little that escaped the older man's scrutiny.

"Secrets can be uncomfortable bedfellows. But that's the choice you have to make. I'll work on the arrangements."

"Thank you, sir."

It was only a few days later that he finally mustered the courage to seek Miranda out. He'd learned from an aide that she had reached the station just after he'd arrived, and was in the process of decamping material from the station labs, tying up loose ends and classifying research files.

There was something amiss in his lack of urgency to meet her, but there was no denying the irrational fear of seeing her and finding her changed beyond his comprehension. Was it only three years since they'd last spoke to each other over vidcomm? In that time, he'd had to walk paths that would drive him insane to walk again. The cross was solely his to carry, a burden he couldn't release, and a journey he couldn't relate to anyone else. Who was to say she hadn't undergone the same?

But there was no way to put it off. He'd dressed himself in a set of freshly-pressed fatigues and made sure to get a brand-new buzz-cut and a shave. No matter that it felt like preparing for a battle. Stopping before the door, he'd spared a glance at his assigned guards.

"This is private."

They looked at each other and awkwardly took positions outside. Shepard nodded his thanks and stepped into the lab, alone for the first time.

His heart froze when he saw her at one of the consoles. She was forty-five standard years old, but her superior genetics gave her the look of a woman in her mid-twenties, in effect, no change from the first time he'd laid eyes on her. Still, he didn't think he was imagining things when he noticed the new lines of stress around her mouth, or the tired, even haunted look in her blue-grey eyes.

They'd stood, just staring at each other, before meeting in a bone-crushing hug at some subliminal sign. Shepard would never forget that moment no matter what came to pass later, but just as he'd feared, after the initial greeting, a strange sense of reservation settled in, like returning to a home changed.

_It's over. It's finally over._

_Let's just go away. Far away. To a place where no one can find us…_

He'd role-played what he would say to her when they finally met. But now that they did, the words died before they could leave his mouth. He couldn't tell her he was no longer an officer, or even a soldier. That Shepard was gone, and he had no idea who he was from now on, let alone who she was.

Like a surrealistic moment in a play, they separated and she drifted back to her interrupted work, while he clambered on a metal table, booted feet swinging in free space.

That the parliament had convened was public knowledge, even if the content of the meetings remained classified. She'd probably thought that was the reason for his delay in coming to find her and so didn't bring up the topic. Or perhaps they'd drifted so far apart that she no longer considered her business to wonder.

"I'm thinking of trying my hand at farming." He began abruptly, words tumbling out of some desperate corner of his mind. "It'll be good to grow things—build, instead of destroy".

She smiled at him then, that trademark enigmatic smile of hers that almost stopped his heart.

"That sounds like a plan." She said as her fingers flew across the console. "So starting off with potted plants?"

He grinned in relief. Just like their memorable first encounter. Her barking commands over the intercom, hustling him to action even as he scrambled to keep afloat. They always began in the middle, never at the start, no niceties like a proper introduction, or a chance to catch his breath. From the moment he met her, he was always on the defensive, always playing catch up. Just like old times.

"C'mon, Miranda, show some faith."

"Mm… How about a box on a window ledge?"

"I was thinking a ten-acre farm on some frontier world actually…"

She glanced up from her task, eyebrow raised.

"Shepard—John, do you remember the fish in your cabin?"

He frowned.

"What about them?"

"Remember the number of times you've had to replace them because they died?"

He returned her gaze, unapologetic. "Like when I was out cold in the med-bay?"

She folded her arms, quirk around her lips.

"What about when you asked me to feed them, forgot, and overfed them yourself?"

"Well, they need to engineer intelligent fishes. What's that got to do with what I'm talking about?"

She shrugged.

"Just saying your track record for keeping things alive isn't exactly outstanding."

Silence swell between them like a bloated corpse left out on a morgue table too long. Miranda finally rubbed the bridge of her nose and sighed softly.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"

The pain came back, a reminder of decisions he wished he'd never made returning with vividness that seemed to punish his culpability in the consequences.

"No." He took a deep breath. "It's all right. You're right."

They stood, separated by the span of a room, yet the distance never felt wider.

"I think you'd like to know I resigned my commission." He said into the silence. She deserved the truth, even if he couldn't bring himself to reveal more. "I'm done."

After a long while, her voice carried faintly across.

"Is that so?"

Shepard cleared his throat for another try even though he couldn't help his heart sinking.

"I wasn't kidding about the farm. My ride leaves for New Canton in a week."

She froze, her fingers caught in mid-motion over the keyboard.

"The Council, the Alliance—they're letting you go?"

"They can court-martial me again. I don't give a flying fuck." The bitterness caught him by surprise even as he berated himself inwardly. This was not the time for histrionics. He tried again, injecting levity into his voice even as he held her with his eyes. "It doesn't matter. My time is my own now."

_Ours if you wish _laid unspoken in his pleading look.

There was an indecipherable expression on her face when she turned away.

He swallowed hard and nodded acknowledgement before leaving.

The week passed in a daze, as if some force animated his body while he watched spectator-like. He knew with every day gone it was less and less likely she'd change her mind. There was always the option to delay his departure just to try connecting with her again. But he also knew nothing would change if there wasn't any common ground left between them.

When the time came to board the freighter that would be making a pit stop at New Canton, Shepard made his way to the docking bay. Slinging a military-issued knapsack, all the possessions he had contained within, over his shoulders, he looked over the dock expanse. The guards assigned to oversee him stood discreetly at a distance. They would board at the last moment, dispelling any suspicions that their leave-taking had anything to do with his.

But nothing else caught his eyes. With a heavy heart, he climbed the boarding ramp. And found her standing at the airlock with her arms folded, the faintest of smiles on her face. Beside her was a single valise.

It was all the answer he needed.


	2. Chapter 1 Part 2

_**2195 CE, New Canton (Present Day)**_

A look at the chrono showed that he'd taken an inordinate amount of time emerging and he was mildly surprised that she didn't comment on it. But when he arrived at the niche used as a dining hall, it was made clear. Scattered around her side of the table were various datapads. Her attention was riveted to the one she held while her other hand was toying absent-mindedly with a stylus which she lifted occasionally to chew.

He towelled his head vigorously and pulled back the chair on the other side.

"Haven't had a productive enough day?"

Their arrival on-planet had involved one rush after another, despite Admiral Hackett's orders expediting their way. Registering their IDs, ironing out the land leash, locating and modifying their living quarters to satisfaction took the better part of the month. It was only recently that things had settled enough to establish a routine where they'd go about their own business during the day. But there was an implicit understanding that nights would be time they share, an attempt to update each other on what they'd gone through in the years that was the Reaper War.

Miranda looked up with a self-depreciating look.

"Sorry, thought I could finish reading this chapter before you were done."

Shepard pushed aside the nagging voice in his head that said they'd not done much in terms of connecting since settling here. He made a conscious effort to ignore that voice and broke the unspoken rule himself by asking, "How are your studies coming along?"

"Like taking a step backwards actually." She said as she arranged the datapads in a stack. "I'm of course familiar with the basics from my studies in bio-engineering, although it's been years since I've given it thought. Studying for the certification on human medicine feels like a refresher course."

He smiled at her. "I'm sure it'll come back to you. You've never been at a loss over anything you put your mind to."

"Yes. But it feels strange working my way into a new job. It's been a long time since I've had to do that." She shrugged. "I suppose it's something I have to get used to again."

He had nothing to say to that, and tried to mask his lack of words by poking at his plate with a fork. The cuisine was a far cry from what was the norm on city-worlds: mostly synthetics and essential amino-acids in a nutritious package with sauces to make the entire set-up more palatable. Neither he nor Miranda made any pretence at being good at cooking. For most of their lives, food had been simply necessary sustenance to provide energy for work they had to do. Although without more pressing things to occupy their mind, the lack of refinement for something as simple as food was beginning to chaff.

He had to wonder if she felt the same when she picked at her plate with the same listlessness.

After a while, she looked up and asked with a too-cheerful smile, "So how was your day?"

"Would you believe me if I say I spent the better part of an hour figuring how to work a plough-sledge?"

She shook her head shortly.

"I suppose the Alliance military forgot to include _that_ one on your training list."

"Makes me wish I could slap a FTL drive or a Gardian laser on it. At least I know how to handle those."

"That'd be overkill, even for you," she pointed out mildly. "Besides, such things aren't relevant anymore, are they?"

"No." Shepard said ruefully after a while. "I guess it's the same with me. Didn't think starting from scratch again would be this hard."

There was a brief silence until Miranda finally pushed her dish aside, abandoning the pretence of eating.

"John, have you thought of what you intend to do after this?"

He studied her from under his brows.

"Feeling bored already, Miranda?"

"No!" She said with more feeling than usual. Leaving her seat, she walked over to the window. "I appreciate this chance for a breather, I do. But surely you can't be thinking of driving plough-sledges here for the rest of your life."

Shepard shrugged.

"Maybe that's what I'm thinking. And besides, why not?"

"Because I know you." She turned around to face him, eyes troubled. "You're as chronically incapable as I am of sitting around when there's so much left to be done. The Reapers may be gone, but the geth and quarian governments are on the brink of war. The asari are threatening to splinter away from the Council. They gave you command of their forces and you led them to victory. I can't think of a better person to advocate a stand down before tempers hit the point of no return."

Shepard swallowed hard. If only she knew he was the one who gave the order that cost five billion human lives. But as unerringly as before, her point hit uncomfortably close to home. _I can't_, he wanted to tell her. _I don't even know if I want to anymore._

One thing was sure. He couldn't expect her to put her life on hold for him. Even if she was willing to do so, he couldn't bear it. That she was disturbed at his apparent apathy was obvious enough. He knew the ground between them was shakier than ever, and staring at the risk of losing her in the face, he decided to break a rule once held sacrosanct between them.

He rose from his seat and walked the distance separating them.

"I don't know if I'd be any good to anyone right now." He was thankful he didn't have to feign the weariness in his voice. "I don't show it much but I'm tired, Miranda. I really am. And how can I be the one to argue for peace when I represent the face of war for the better part of a decade?"

She bit her lip and hesitated before saying, "Once upon a time, I'd have been the first to say the galaxy has no need for heroes. But people like you, Mordin, Garrus, even Jack proved me wrong. Would it be so hard to inspire others to follow your lead again?"

"No, no." He groaned. "You're the last person I expected to pull that one on me. I've had more than enough of people accepting my decisions without a thought. Whenever I think about taking the easy way, I couldn't help but hear your voice. I can't count the number of times you've kept me honest."

She studied him, as if searching for a hint of sarcasm. Failing to find anything, she shrugged.

"You give me too much credit. The fact we stand here is proof that you did make the right choices after all."

Shepard crossed his arms and stared out of the window.

"Except I could've made a bigger difference if I'd thought faster or acted more decisively. I should've replaced Admiral Han'Gerrel's fleet with another garrison around the orbit of Sanves. Twenty-three million dead asari just to save a third of the quarian flotilla…"

Miranda sighed.

"Your forces were spread thin. There was no way you could foresee the Reapers would hit that system. And we both know the only thing you'll find down that road is endless recrimination."

"I know." He took a deep breath. "Doesn't make it any easier, but I know. And that's all I'm asking for: time to get away from it, to make peace with myself. After this… all bets are off."

She conceded reluctantly. "We could both use a bit of that. But maybe you should take this time to ask yourself what is it you want now that the Reapers are gone. You time is, as you said, your own now."

Shepard frowned.

"Tell me. Why did you agree to join me here?"

She was silent for a while.

"Maybe I'm taking a page off Mordin's book? Taking up medical practice here seemed like a good change from all the destruction. And god knows there's so much that needs to be rebuilt."

He raised an inviting eyebrow.

"A page off Mordin's book?"

"He and I worked together for several years, researching on indoctrination." She didn't look at him again when she replied. "He helped keep me sane, but died before he could see the work through."

He'd heard about the salarian scientist's death from some passing aide during a war council, and stowed his grief away in lieu of more pressing matters. But this was the first time he'd heard that Miranda was with Mordin.

"What happened?"

"Old age." There was a hitch in her voice. "He hid it well, didn't utter a word of complaint until the end."

That she cared enough to openly grieve for a non-human was surprising to Shepard, but it was part of what he was beginning to suspect: she'd undergone her own share of pain and loss even as he was moving fleets and losing civilian populations for the better part of the decade.

Wordlessly, Shepard reached for her shoulders to draw her near, even as inwardly he was terrified. _Don't push me away, please._ To his relief, she gave the slightest of resistance before burying her face in the crook of his neck.

They stood there at the window as the gas giant revolved infinitesimally across the sky, trailed by a parade of moons. On his part, Shepard was simply content to hold her. One month, and tonight was the best progress they'd made towards bridging the gap between each other. How long would it take, he wondered.

She finally sighed and rested her head against his shoulder.

"It's stupid to be crying, isn't it? Mordin's led a full life. Even now, they're writing biographies of him. He'd be laughing if he knew, no matter how he talked like he wished it'd happen."

Shepard smiled, recalling his own conversations with the salarian. Was she regaled with a song number as well? He decided to give it a wild shot. "No biography of Mordin would be complete without mentioning his musical talents."

Miranda looked at him in astonishment. "You too?"

"It was one of the few times I was stumped, although it may be because nobody could squeeze a word in edge-wise whenever he talked. Or sang."

She laughed softly before disengaging from him to look up, challenge glinting in her blue eyes.

"You've asked your question. Now it's my turn. I noticed when we were on board that ship a berth had been reserved for me. Same thing with my name in the colony registration form. How could you be so sure I'd join you?"

Shepard shifted uncomfortably.

"Oh, that. Yeah, well, I figured it was better to be safe than sorry. You know how long these things can take."

"John..." She pinned him with a knowing look.

He winced, but confession was probably the best retreat here.

"All right, I made an assumption, I admit it. But it was the right call, wasn't it?"

"You can be such an arse, you know that?"

"I'm that." He grinned judiciously. "Your very own unrepentant arse."

She shook her head in fond exasperation, long dark hair falling past to hide her face.

Emboldened, he reached down to tuck the strands behind her ear before lifting her chin to meet his mouth. She hesitated for a while before falling in with him, her tongue reaching out to meet his. Thus began a tentative interplay. His foray for a deeper taste of her mouth was met with a chastening nip of her teeth. She smiled against his lips before sucking lightly on his tongue. The motion of returning measure with measure went on until the world began spinning from the lack of air. When they broke away slightly to catch their breath, he brought both arms securely around her and drew in until their bodies were flushed against one another.

Her involuntary shiver gave him the courage to seek the delectable skin of her neck. Experience guided him as he brushed his stubble-roughened cheek against her throat eliciting a sigh from her. He let his hands wander beneath her sweater, one sliding down the bare skin of her back, fingers pressed down just above the flare of her hips to keep her lower body close. He moved his other hand to the front, reaching to cup the generous swell of her breast, thumb brushing against her nipple. He grinned when that drew a moan from her. It was nice to know that no matter what, _some_ things didn't change.

She must've caught his train of thought, because she released her hands around his neck to slip them beneath the waistband of his pants and clutch his buttocks so that their lower halves ground against each other.

"_Oh, fuck!"_ He exclaimed at the contact even as she laughed.

"Payback can be such a bitch," she whispered triumphantly into his ear.

He growled in mock annoyance and claimed her mouth again. Few moments could rival this, Shepard thought as their breathing grew harsh; the one that came to mind was their first lovemaking, on the deck of the Normandy's engine room with the mass effect core thrumming above their entwined bodies. It'd been so long since they were last together he couldn't help but react, a condition that became outright uncomfortable pressed against her stomach. When he shifted to ease the pressure off his erection, she froze. And then she did the unexpected. She put both hands on his chest and pushed him away.

"I…I can't."

Dawning terror bloomed on Miranda's face as she stepped backwards until she was up against the window.

Shepard shook his head in confusion.

"Why?"

"I can't. I really can't." She repeated, anguish evident in her voice. "I'm sorry."

She ran past him, straight into her room and slammed the door shut. After a few minutes, Shepard cursed silently. He flung one hand up in an angry gesture, unleashing a wave of biotic energy that threw the window wide open. Hands gripping the bottom pane, he let the cold air wash over him, chilling his heated skin. It was a long while before he moved again.

-~o~-

Miranda heard the crash of the window panes striking the outside walls of the prefab unit from her spot behind the door, and then deep silence. She finally allowed herself to slide soundlessly to the floor, head against the cool surface of the metal door.

How did she let herself be so careless, she wondered dazedly even as her body struggled to come down from the sexual high, the muscles in her nether regions aching from the anticipation. Uncharacteristic rage gradually began filling up the empty void within her, rage that had no outlet, nowhere to spend itself on. She wanted to scream, to rail at the injustice of it all, but all that emerged was a dry-throated laugh. Did she imagine this day would come when she made the choice? How could she?

She drew her legs up, ignoring the wetness between her thighs, and locked her arms tightly around them. Resting her head against her knees, she gazed at the cheap carpet that lined the floor, seeing but not comprehending. In that position, the tension in her body gradually eased to bearable levels. Vague frustration coloured her thoughts as she drifted into a state of between sleep and consciousness.

-~o~-

_**2188 CE, Esperance Station**_

"I still empathically disagree that we should use humans as baseline! Asari commandos have an innate ability to withstand indoctrination. Should anything go wrong, it's likely the asari who will be carrying out the missions. Working on an asari-compatible vaccine is the only reasonable solution."

Jela Myria, a renowned scientist, emphasized her point by slamming her palm on the table. She was vivid shade of maroon, an unusual skin tone for an asari, although her flushed features were making her edge towards the red end of the spectrum at the moment.

"Have to disagree. Makes perfect sense. Diversity in human gene pool proven widest of all sapient species. Only human subjects capable of accounting for variations in experimental outcomes. Also, must keep in mind percentage of human forces engaging in strikes. Numbers not negligible enough to consider concentrating on human-compatible vaccine nepotism."

Jela pinned Mordin with a hostile stare.

"Professor Solus, we've heard that argument countless of times. But is that all there is to it? Did you imagine that nobody else in this room apart from you and Ms. Lawson would know of your connection with the human terrorist group known as Cerberus?"

She drawled out the name _Ms. Lawson_ subtly enough to imply insult but not enough to take outright offense at. Sitting at the head of the table, Miranda gazed at the Asari matriarch coolly.

"Fallacy in reasoning, Jela. Cerberus involvement crucial in preserving base information. Primary reason why we are sitting here right now."

She'd been assigned the role of project coordinator because they were to work with information retrieved from Cerberus' databases by Alliance forces, information that she'd helped put there after the base assault three years ago.

"And why did the information take so long to surface? Should I suspect our human allies had something to do with the tardiness? Perhaps Cerberus isn't as gutted as we'd imagine. Perhaps I should be worried that we still have their sympathisers in our midst."

Iskandar Mohammad, from the University of Mozambique, Earth cut in smoothly, "Excuse me for being blunt, but shouldn't we be concerned about getting on with the work instead of pointing fingers at each other now?"

Faresh'Daro, the quarian engineer raised his hand hesitantly.

"I think we can all agree that we have limited resources. I can understand the need to work on a human vaccine as long as the work doesn't stop there."

"That is my point, Faresh. How are we to know the work won't stop there? When it has been proven that this information came from an organisation that promoted human supremacy at the expense of all other species in the galaxy?"

It'd been one month since the team entered the Omega-4 relay to retrieve more samples from the derelict base. Never mind that they'd had to resort to a far smaller ship than the _Normandy SR2_, with a Reaper IFF transponder culled from a destroyed hull and installed at the last minute, or with a far less experienced pilot than Jeff Moreau. Since then, research work had been stalled for a whole month plagued by bickering, accusations and insinuations of hidden agendas primarily from Jela Myria.

Clamping down on her irritation, Miranda broke in smoothly, "Professor Myria, I can assure you we _will_ extend our work to encompass other species. Security concerns make it impossible for me to reveal the original directive, but my orders were crystal clear."

"What security concerns? I'm on the asari government's need-to-know list. Unless you can convince me there isn't another hidden agenda towards advocating for a human-based vaccine, I cannot take your word for it."

Miranda gazed at the assembled people in the meeting room. Myria was the biotechnologist. Mordin was the geneticist, Faresh an AI expert and molecular-engineer, and Mohammad a xenobiologist. Her own bio-engineering expertise and knowledge on human biology completed the mix. Witnessing the entire proceeding in silence was Colonel Ian Ravkas of the Alliance Navy, titular commander of the space station they were based in. He was also a science man who would assist them in devising the vaccine's release vector to complement military strikes.

In any other circumstance, it was an exemplary team.

"You're demanding proof of something that _isn't_ there. And we both know negative evidence can never be conclusive. Even if I was in a position to disclose the information, you're not likely to be satisfied. So what exactly is your issue?"

"Why did it take so long for this human commander, Shepard to decide that we need to understand the underlying principles of indoctrination? How long did the information about nanotechnology being at the heart of indoctrination lay buried in human databases? _Why order asari commandos to disable reaper cores knowing they will fail?"_

Tears stood visibly in Jela's eyes, and even Mohammad, a usually smooth and suave man, shifted uncomfortably.

Miranda tried to work sympathy into her expression.

"I heard about the loss of your daughter and I'm sorry for your grief. I'm sure there'll be no lack of tribunals to assign due blame when this is all over. But more so than ever, our work cannot stop. We must create that human-based vaccine."

Myria stared at her distantly.

"Typical response from someone who doesn't know what it's like to lose a loved one in the frontlines. What's the point of accountability after the deed is done? No matter." She looked away, as if dismissing everything from her mind. "I've had enough of all this human bureaucratic weaselling. Find yourself a replacement biotechnologist. Put me on a ship back to Thessia."

"All the mass relays from here to Thessia are destroyed. Alternative routes must go through Reaper-controlled space. I can't afford to waste time or resources looking for a replacement. I sincerely ask you to reconsider, Professor Myria."

"I gave you my answer. Even if I must remain here, I want nothing more to do with your disingenuous schemes."

Miranda closed her eyes, wishing inwardly it didn't have to come to this.

"Colonel Ravkas."

"Ma'am."

"Are supplies accounted for? Non-essential spacecraft and personnel transferred off-station?"

"All done."

"Thank you. As of now, I am placing this station under martial law. Nobody gets on or off it without my permission. All extranet traffic will be restricted to research purposes." She crossed her arms, taking in the shocked faces around the room. "We're going to create the vaccine, starting with the human-compatible before adapting it for asari, salarian and turian physiologies. And we're not leaving until we're done."

"You can't do this to us! We didn't take sides!" Faresh'Daro spluttered even as ominous murmurs began in the background.

Jela hissed. "On whose authority do you make these decisions?"

"The Systems Alliance military, _and_ your respective governments. If you must verify that, Colonel Ravkas will patch you through the appropriate channels. I'd suggest you hurry, assuming you can _still_ get through with the Reaper fleet out there destroying relays. Once you're done, it would be in your interest to apply yourself to the task if you wish to leave."

"This is an outrage! If you think my government would abide such treatment to its citizens, you're very much mistaken." Jela shoved her chair back and prepared to walk out of the room.

Miranda drew her heavy pistol in a smooth motion and fired a shot at the door.

Everyone froze.

"You are the one who's mistaken, Professor Myria." She levelled the weapon at Myria. "I'm simply dispensing with the bureaucratic weaselling you just complained about. You may also want to keep in mind that martial law means I can summarily arrest without trial anyone who's found attempting to sabotage the project."

Nobody said a word in the subsequent silence, although Faresh seemed to be on his way to a permanent foetal position in his seat.

Effect achieved, Miranda thumbed the lock back on and placed the pistol in clear view on the table.

"I regret the need for this. If it wasn't clear, this team is more than capable of producing the results." She made the point of looking at everyone in the room. "We must. Our governments are depending on us. The galaxy is depending on us."

Shocked faces continued to stare back at her. She looked down at a datapad, and tried to recapture her previous business-like tone.

"Synthesis of genetic samples is proceeding smoothly. Faresh, please step up your dissection of the mechanical counterparts. I want to begin examining how the bio-synthetic components work hand-in-hand to alter neurological functions in no more than three weeks."

Faresh managed to uncurl enough to mumble acknowledgement.

"If there's nothing else, this meeting is adjourned."

The room emptied out as she snagged Rakvas for a brief whisper.

"I want Jela Myria placed on suicide watch. Discreetly."

Ravkas nodded understanding before taking his leave.

_What wouldn't I've given to have your way with words. _Miranda sighed, allowing herself the brief luxury of thinking about Shepard. It was likely she'd burned all bridges with Myria with the team distrusting her now more than ever, but it couldn't be helped.

Except for one individual. Mordin was still in his seat, regarding her with a bemused expression.

"Harsh but necessary. Applaud your courage."

"I wonder if they've realised the Reapers already have us confined to the station and the only relevant point is my threat on saboteurs?"

"Probably not. Non-combatants after all." Mordin observed with his usual equanimity. "Perfectly acceptable practice for you and me. Actually noted your measures in place two weeks ago."

She shook her head.

"Does anything ever escape you?"

"Not infallible. But object to Jela's slurs on your ability. Foresee more resentment of your authority if rest of the team thinks the same. Have to find a way to pre-empt that."

"Doesn't matter. I didn't need academic certifications to head the Lazarus Project, and I don't need them now. Proof of my worth will come, one way or another."

She sat down, and gazed at Mordin thoughtfully.

"How do you do it, Mordin? Stay calm in the face of such odds?"

"All ties accounted for. Lived a full life, have no regrets. More fortunate than some." He looked at her. "Heard anything from Shepard?"

"He said he was going beyond the Perseus Veil to gather the geth forces in his last message." Her brow furrowed in worry. "That was three weeks ago."

Mordin reached out to tweak his cranial horn. "Confess, still find human courtship and mating behaviour puzzling. Although may explain that tendency for two units to form a basic breeding pair has effect in creating diversity in human genome."

Despite knowing the salarian for years, there were times when his mental leaps still took Miranda by surprise.

"Monogamy wasn't always the norm." She pointed out, toying with her datapad. "And I'm not sure it's been around long enough to have that effect."

"Likely insufficient data at present. But balanced birth ratios and established tendency to mate with one partner at a time suggest stable status quo. Not implausible to find stronger evidence in a few centuries' time."

_If we live past the current extinction threat..._ It was a long time since she'd given it thought, but at his words, the memory of reading about Noah's ark from her childhood came to mind, the rare times when she forced reality to take a backseat in favour of an imaginary world. She'd long since lost that ability. Inevitably as it did now, the image conjured up dread.

"I hope we won't need to go on board the ark, two by two, this time."

"Ah. Christian biblical reference. Hard to imagine, but are you a believer?"

"I was never one. But it made for a great story as a child." Unable to dislodge her newfound dread, she said a little desperately. "I've been meaning to ask: I've read about salarian breeding contracts, but what actually happens?"

Mordin's lips split widely. On a human, she would say it was a salacious smile. He lifted a finger. And then followed that with all six digits.

"One female. Many males."

Miranda smiled despite her mood.

"That sounds strangely refreshing. How do your women stand being pawed over?"

"No physical contact involved. Fortunately or unfortunately. Egg-laying species. Unfertilised eggs hatch into males. Fertilised become females. Each male partner allowed to fertilise one egg."

"I see why you think our courtship behaviour baffling. No physical contact would be quite the letdown."

"Hormones can be very inconvenient. You have my sympathy."

"You'll excuse me if I don't respond to _that_." She chuckled, even as Mordin's lips twitched. "So what happens if a male tries to, ah, overstep his boundaries?"

"Communal affair. Female's clan-mates stand guard against unsanctioned moves. Quite a good deterrent actually."

"Another of those big differences…" She shook her head. "Do you have children of your own?"

"Contract negotiation takes too long. STG work more important. More than one way to leave mark of existence in galaxy. Foresee children in the future yourself?"

Mordin must have sensed her sudden mood change, and asked carefully.

"Intruding? Apologies, didn't mean offense."

"No. It's all right." Miranda stared at the datapad in her hands before making her decision.

"It's just awhile back, I found out I wouldn't be able to conceive naturally. It's not irreversible, I think. I didn't have the time to learn more, what with Shepard getting captured and the rest of us on the run," she said, gazing at the opposite wall of the room. "Not that it matters now..."

Mordin coughed politely. "Beg to differ. Salarians lack concept of sexual love, but universal for all species to have emotional investment in future. Survival mechanism."

"I know. But that's so academic. Knowing it doesn't count somehow… "

"Need to feel to understand? Not immune myself. Tendency for scientists to overlook: sometimes, most effective answers are emotional ones."

She looked at him.

"You're a wise man, Mordin."

To her surprise, he turned away in embarrassment.

"Harboured fear once would spend twilight years on home-world as armchair philosopher. Traditional. Much better here instead. Humans have a saying: no rest for the wicked? Very apt personally."

Miranda laughed. "That's as good a reasoning as any."

-~o~-

_**2190 CE, Esperance Station**_

She'd strapped herself to an operating table, leaving only one hand free. Her other arm was punctured with needles and wires linked to a series of monitoring equipment. On a side table were two syringes. The few millimetres of plasma in one was swimming with hundreds of thousands of bio-synthetic indoctrination nanites, grown in lab conditions. The "cure"-a similar number of prototypical nanobots hung suspended in plasma within another syringe.

It was deep in the night cycle. Earlier in the day, the team had committed one of their best to the embrace of a star. Professor Mordin Solus, the brilliant salarian geneticist had passed away in his sleep the night before.

From working exclusively with humans in Cerberus, she now counted far more aliens as colleagues and friends in the war against the Reapers. It was cliché as hell, but still funny how necessity altered one's sense of perception. And out of the vast number of blue, brown, variegated, tusked faces she'd grown accustomed to over the years, the visage of Mordin was one that said oldest and dearest friend.

She hadn't seen Shepard in over two years. They'd exchanged the occasional letter, once every few months, short missives that spoke little of what they did, but more of their feelings—fears and hopes for the ongoing events, and always, the unspoken wish that they would meet again soon. The last one she'd received dated six months ago. No one knew where Shepard was, and what news drifted in painted horrific pictures of entire planets being harvested and the resistance shredded away by heavy fire and severe losses.

She sobbed openly on this night, of all nights, where loss and despair seemed like walls caving in around her, and tried to firm her resolve for the job at hand.

Two years onboard this space station, fighting as surely as Shepard still was, except her fight was against time to produce an indoctrination vaccine for strike forces to board Reapers and destroy their mass effect cores. They stood at the cusp of death or delivery. If the human version proved viable, work could begin immediately to customise the nanites for the other species.

"The time is Earth Standard 0115, April 10, 2190. I've revoked my security clearance and shut down manual overrides. Monitoring and recording systems are isolated and online. I'm doing this is because there's no time left for a formal trial and my accelerated healing ability means no other human on-station is better suited to this field test than myself.

"My specialisation is bio-engineering and human biology. Should this human-compatible vaccine work, then my job is done, and I'm no longer indispensable. To that end, I've unlocked access to my research and personal files, and am effectively transferring control of the project and this station to my second-in-command Colonel Ian Ravkas of the Alliance Navy. In the event I survive, all my standing orders will remain in place. There's no guarantee I'll be free of indoctrination."

With a deep breath, she plunged the syringe into her arm.


	3. Chapter 1 Part 3

For an atheist, death and beyond excluded the presence of consciousness. It was therefore a sign of life. And if that wasn't evidence enough, pain was an ample collaborator.

Miranda opened her eyes. All her senses felt raw and abraded. She tried to swallow against a dry throat, and found obstruction in the form of a substantial tube. A breathing mask covered half her face and she could hear the hiss of a working ventilator. Despite the aid, every intake of air felt like breathing fire. Tears leaked involuntarily from the pain that wreaked her. It was the only reaction her battered body could muster.

Monitoring equipment must've registered a change because a figure moved into her field of vision. Blinking hard, it materialised into a woman with dirty blonde hair peering at her worriedly. A cup came into view and the woman lifted the mask to dab her lips with water before dribbling a little of it into her mouth.

She tried again to work saliva into her throat, but all that came out was a frustrated _"chhk…"_

The blonde woman looked at her sympathetically. "I can't administer more painkillers without having you go down under. And I suspect you'd probably want some answers and explanations."

With great effort, Miranda inclined her head, breath hitching at the exertion. The next few moments were spent struggling against impending unconsciousness when the sudden application of a cold towel wiping away her tears came in time to keep her senses focused.

"I'm Kahlee Sanders. I arrived at this station five weeks ago. Shortly after your self-inflicted "experiment". Makes me wonder if it's serendipity that I came just in time to help reverse the effect of those nanites."

So that was who she was. News that Sanders had been researching on indoctrination and had the most promising leads had been taken into consideration before the research team was established. But then came devastating news that she'd died in the initial attack on the Citadel, prompting Shepard to abandon plans to search for her.

The towel left her face, and the mask came back on. Sanders move out of sight even as her voice continued. "I'll be sitting here beside your bed. Just listen, don't try to move."

The sound of a chair scraping the metal floor drifted across.

"I think you know who I am. I spent the last two years on the run with my research. A quarian ship picked me up two months ago and shuttled me to an alliance base which sent me here. I've seen your team's work. It's sound, although I wish you didn't have to waste time reinventing the wheel. Your test showed that your vaccine can keep the nanites at bay for up to eight hours. I'm working to incorporate my research and extend that window even further. Colonel Ravkas has determined it's sufficient for the job of destroying Reaper cores. There's also a good chance we'll have to settle for just the human and asari versions, but it's still a qualified success. So congratulations, Ms. Lawson. Your gamble paid off."

Miranda's lips cracked in an involuntary smile. She was faintly disappointed that the vaccine would only delay indoctrination onset, but Sanders was right: for the parameters of the mission, it sufficed. It was as if a great weight was lifted off her and she was tempted to give in to sleep again when something wet and cool touched her lips. She opened her eyes to see the older woman applying on a coat of medi-gel.

"Thought you went under again because I wasn't done." Sanders brushed away errant strands of hair from her face and peered closely, as if gauging her level of cognizance.

Satisfied, Sanders continued. "As you've probably guessed, your team went to some lengths to stabilise you. They put you through extensive blood transfusions and lowered your core temperature to induce stasis. All that prevented the nanites from destroying your neurological functions and altering your body extensively. I've managed to disable their self-replicating function and introduced a virus custom-made to attack their biological components."

The blonde woman shook her head in what seemed like admiration.

"You're lucky you're engineered to heal _that_ fast. The virus would've destroyed the nanites along with their human host. But the approach isn't a hundred-percent success. There's just too many of them. They're too weak in numbers now to exert an effect, but it's likely you'll to have to live with their presence for a good many years. There may also be some memory loss, but the pain you're feeling is mostly the effect of the virus clearing out of your system. I suppose we should be grateful the nanites were programmed to repair even as they alter. Do you know you're likely the only person to have survived an outright indoctrination attack?"

Sanders turned to the side to adjust the control on a machine. "I'll be giving you a clean bill of health so you can revoke your standing orders if you wish, but the powers above have something else in mind. You've been ordered to transport the human-compatible vaccine to Alliance forces in the Voyager Cluster. I'll be taking over your role here. Oh, and I brought with me a personal message from Admiral Shepard."

The blonde woman removed the breathing mask again, and peeled the medical tape off her cheeks, lifting a tube into view. A twist at the connecting joint separated it into halves.

"I think you're strong enough for me to remove that feeding tube now." Sanders tried to extract the tube gently, but even so, Miranda gagged as it slid up her throat. Once it was gone however, the relief was indescribable.

"Ready to go under again?"

She swallowed several times and thought of trying to speak. Eventually, she settled for forming words with her lips. Sanders frowned as she read _Thank you_ and then _No. _The other woman began to look troubled.

"Are you sure? Maybe I shouldn't have said so much." Sanders muttered.

She nodded her head infinitesimally, hoping that her ability to track Sanders' movement would be evidence of her clarity of mind.

"All right." Sanders conceded reluctantly. "Try not to tire yourself out."

Fine-tuning a number of monitoring controls, Sanders turned down the lights before finally leaving the room.

It was a cold light that filtered in from the stars outside the observation window. Miranda forced her head to turn towards the view. Either she was getting better at ignoring the pain or her body was healing at its usual accelerated rate, because the effort was bearable this time.

She noticed Sanders hadn't called her out for her gamble. She had to wondered how much of her decision had been compelled by necessity and how much was reaction to the despair she'd felt then and maybe even now. Except she was mostly numbed. Sanders' news should've brought elation, but it hadn't. Knowing that Shepard was alive should have brought relief, but again, it hadn't.

She wondered if she would ever feel like herself again.

-~o~-

_**2195 CE, New Canton (Present Day)**_

Morning came to the blurring senses as a series of events: the gradually warming light that stole into the room, outlines of objects subjected to her meticulously arrangement emerging as distinct shapes and the sounds of Shepard's moving in the hall.

Slowly, Miranda eased herself from her curled-up position, taking care not to make a sound. She padded softly across her room when there came a knock on the door.

"Miranda?"

She stopped on her tracks.

"I know you're awake. Breakfast is on the table. I'm going off now. But I think we should talk when I get back. I'm sorry if I was too hasty last night. Didn't mean to. It's just…" There was a brief silence. "Never mind. I'll see you later."

In time, the main door opened and closed with a finality that told her she was alone. Leaving her room, she found things just as he'd described; a meal laid out for her neatly and covered up. An involuntary smile tugging her lips, she picked up the single flower left beside the arrangement. It was a common species, but considering it was spring, she had to wonder how far he'd gone to find the bloom.

He was right. They had to talk. She let the flower slip to fall on the table and sat down, head rested against tented hands. It wasn't right to lead him on any further. The conversation last night had been a right step towards finding each other again. That he'd made it obvious he still wanted her was both humbling and exhilarating. Maybe they could be satisfied with just the emotional connection? Almost immediately, she snorted. _Who are you kidding? _

Keeping things under wraps on a small ship like the _Normandy_ had been impossible towards the end. Theirs was a relationship that thrived on pushing the limits. It'd always been a case of all or nothing, d_on't ever lie to me_ intersecting with _trust that I won't hurt you_. It was also clear her resolve was breaking down. She didn't think she could subject herself to more incidents like last night and not go mad with frustration. Just the thought made her body coil up all over again.

Breakfast was disposed of and cleaned up in short order. She took a shower and pleasured herself in the attempt to relieve the tension. It helped, somewhat, but also brought home the point that something had to be done, and soon. Exiting the cubicle, she put on a smart pair of dark slacks and a form-fitting black shirt. Slinging a matching coat on the backrest of her console chair, she glanced at the chrono. The datapads stacked neatly as the side would be abandoned for today.

The seven-year war had left Miranda mostly in the dark about her sister's whereabouts. It was a stroke of luck that Oriana chose to become a terraformer on a colony at the edge of Citadel Space. She was spared from the initial wave of attack, and spent the next few years moving from system to system. They were reunited briefly above the orbit of Earth before work pulled Oriana away: this time to a human colony in the Skyllian Verge where her talents would be best put to use.

Determined to stay connected with the few personal ties she had left, Miranda invested in a secured quantum-entangling data channel linking her directly with Oriana. She punched in the code on the console and whiled away time browsing the extranet, trying to quell her irritation at the limited range of information. Out here in a Terminus system with most of the information buoys knocked out or destroyed, what news or information that filtered in was mostly either out of date, or non-existent.

The chat window finally beeped, announcing Oriana's entrance.

08:45 OR: Sorry sorry. Got caught up

08:50 ML: No worries. How are you?

08:51 OR: The darnedest thing just happened. Was coming back when I found I lost my ID card. Spent a full hour looking through the hovercar lot.

08:51 ML: Did you find it?

08:52 OR: No, damnit. It's not important, just a pain in the ass to replace. I wonder if...nah, I'd better do it soon. But the queues at the colonial office are always so long.

08:52 ML: Trouble?

08:53 OR: What? No. I need the card to sign out the heavy-duty trucks. It's the only way to lug all my equipment to the fringe colonies. Anyway, what's done is done. How are your studies coming along?

08:54 ML: I'm on track to clear half the modules. But I'll wait till I've mastered the whole course before taking the exams. Saves time on the back and forth.

08:56 OR: Speaking of which, are you gonna accept the honorary degree that salarian university is awarding you?

She frowned and fired off a query.

08:57 ML: What are you talking about?

08:57 OR: You don't know? You should really bug your governor to fix those comm buoys. Hang on...

The console beeped after a few seconds, signalling an incoming data-packet. It was a news article, one she'd never seen before. Miranda scrolled through the content quickly. Apparently, a renowned university on Sur'Kesh intended to award her a bio-engineering doctorate based on her work on Reaper indoctrination and Project Lazarus. Her eyes grew wide at the last line.

09:03 ML: Do me a favour? Run a search on "Project Lazarus" and tell me what you find.

09:05 OR: I see a total of... 56 entries. 12 of them praising some fundamentalist Asari cult group. 8 news articles deriding same cult group, all from human agencies. 2 personal sites mocking the whole thing by—-surprise, Krogans! Aaaaand 1... OK, OK, I'll stop. Anyway, there're 23 biomedical-related entries. Mostly science periodicals and research quarterlies. The earliest was dated one year ago. Keep in mind the extranet here isn't exactly stellar either.

Her mind went into overdrive, racing to make links in an attempt to locate a leak. A search on the local net turned out two entries. She cursed.

09:11 ML: Could you forward those to me?

09:12 OR: On the cult group? Sure. Just kidding! Hang on...

09:14 OR: Miri... Is what they say true? That you brought a dead person back to life?

She thought about denying it as the requested files came in, but it seemed the data was already out there beyond retrieval.

09:16 ML: Yes. But that was a long time ago.

09:16 OR: Who was it and why?

She sighed.

09:17 ML: It was John. He was killed shortly after Sovereign's attack on the Citadel. Cerberus put me in charge of rebuilding him.

09:17 OR: And you never thought to tell me this until now?

09:18 ML: That information was classified. Can you imagine what would happen if the galaxy got wind Cerberus was involved?

09:19 OR: Well, it's out there now. Besides the both of you are heroes for crying out loud! What's the use of fame if you can't squeeze it for a little benefit? Hmm... Give me a mo, just thought of something...

Miranda shook her head at her sister's unfounded optimism, and took the opportunity to look through the files received. Studying every article would take an entire day, but a glimmer of a suspicion took hold when she saw that most of the files originated from Sur'Kesh, the salarian home-world.

_Mordin..._

09:22 OR: OK. Somehow, I don't think you'll like this...

There was another beep as a new article came in. She opened, scanned through it and nearly choked.

09:24 OR: Romantic, isn't it?

09:25 ML: Tell me you're being sarcastic. This is ridiculous. There must be a way to stop the spread of such baseless assertions!

09:25 OR: Maybe if you get a better extranet link (I'm being sarcastic) Not sure you can justify the baseless part either. You did fall for him...

09:26 OR: And yeah, yeah. I know what you're gonna say: we're not discussing this. Message received. Anyway, you and John should come visit one of these days. This planet is breathtaking.

She stopped in mid-sentence, and deleted the line with a well-practiced sigh before resuming typing.

09:27 ML: Sounds nice.

09:27 OR: Is that a yes? I have leave to spare in two months' time.

She hesitated, remembering what happened the night before.

09:28 ML: Let me discuss it with John first.

09:28 OR: Well, don't sit on it too long. Damn... I think I just heard a window shutter slam. Looks like it's gonna rain. Let me go check it out.

09:29 ML: Ori, don't you lock your windows before leaving the house?

09:29 OR: It's a loose shutter. Meant to get it fixed but never got around to it.

09:30 ML: Do you want to close this session then? I have errands to run myself.

09:30 OR: Sure. I'll catch up with you again.

09:30 ML: Sorry I got you caught up with my problems. We'll talk more next time.

09:31 OR: C'mon now, that's what sisters are for. Take care!

Miranda signed off and glared at the opened files on the screen. She took one baleful look at the foremost article and trashed the offending item. The thought that her private life was fodder for the tabloids was disturbing. Shepard would probably laugh it off, but he was used to far more public scrutiny. Even out here on a remote world, a security network surrounded him, mostly in the form of round-the-clock shadow surveillance. It was something she was personally glad she didn't have to endure.

She saved the rest of the files for perusal later and shrugged on the jacket before making her way to the garage. Powering up the hovercar used for trips to the main settlement, she nudged the controls, veering over the low-lying pre-fabricated units of their small community towards the space port of the planet.

New Canton was unusual among colonies for a space port that catered only to orbital and planetary shuttles. Its microbial-based ecology meant star-ships were required by quarantine protocols to dock at a modest-sized space station orbiting overhead. Together with cargo handling, the station was also equipped with personnel holding areas and state-of-the-art medical labs to process new colonists.

One month ago, before landing on the planet, Miranda had used her clearance as a senior Alliance scientist to access the labs. Running a complex gamut of medical tests on herself had become routine after her experiment with the indoctrination nanites. As it turned out, Sanders' prognosis had been correct. Their numbers fell every year, but if she was looking to be entirely free of them, it would take five more years according to the rate of reduction.

It'd felt like a reasonable time back when nobody could predict what the war would bring the next day. But the question now was how willing was she to risk contaminating Shepard. There was no knowing how many of the damn things he'd accumulated in his body over the years. They'd probably have to get him checked out after her disclosure, but her trip today was more than just picking up the test results.

She banked the vehicle, making a beeline for an extranet company field office, the one that she'd signed on for the quantum-link. The chat with Oriana troubled Miranda in more ways than one; the gaps in her information net most of all. She had to wonder how much more she was missing out.

Without preamble, she headed for the service counter to buy time on a quantum extranet link, submitting her Alliance ID to cut through the restrictions involved in securing such a channel. The Citadel's network used to be the originating point of public quantum links, being the seat of the galactic government with access to all information nodes from various parts of the galaxy. Since its destruction, users had to decide which point they wanted to link to, with the understanding that data in particular areas would be lacking depending on their choices.

After a moment of deliberation, Miranda selected Bekenstein on a haunch that its undamaged infrastructure and location in Citadel space would be sufficient to assure a decent database. The search on Project Lazarus turned up over two hundred entries this time. Most of the papers still originated from Sur'Kesh, further confirming her suspicion that Mordin was the one who'd leaked the information. She fired off a query to the university where the bulk of research papers came from, requesting copies of the original files. Reluctantly, she signed off with her Alliance ID as proof that she was project leader.

The spectre of Cerberus continued to haunt Alliance politics, and she could only hope that Mordin had removed every last reference from the files. The last thing Shepard needed was more public evidence tying him to _that_ organisation. There was no denying that her name was a screaming red flag. Hopefully, the brunt of whatever backlash that arose would fall on her instead.

Frowning at the implications, Miranda switched over to the general news section. The articles were mostly non-current, with dates that stretched back the further the distance of the locations were from Bekenstein. But she'd paid for the time on this channel, an exorbitant sum in fact, and there was several minutes yet left on her session. Outdated as some of the items were, there was nonetheless news that remained relevant.

**[Earth Standard Time 16:06 13****th**** June 2195 CE]**

**Martial Law Lifted From Earth**

The martial law imposed by the Systems Alliance Military for the better part of five years has finally been lifted by the newly-elected Alliance Parliament. Prime Minister Jeong Han Park, who won by a landslide majority last month, has vowed to return governance to civilian hands. At the top of his recently-unveiled agenda is investigation into accusations of gross negligence on the part of Alliance forces resulting in the needless loss of human lives during the lead up to the conclusion of the Reaper war. Celebrations have erupted over the news in many parts of Earth, along with massive protests taking place in numerous cities, demanding redress for the lack of accountability, as well as insufficient transparency in the war-making process.

She shook her head at the cycle of recrimination that seemed to have sprung up again, and resumed her scrolling of headlines, eyes flicking expertly over every page, stopping only to speed read through particular items. Over the years, she'd learned to spot-glance certain keywords on subjects that interested her, and that was how the next piece caught her attention.

**[Earth Standard Time 13:45 20****th**** March 2195 CE]**

**Aiken Eldfell of Eldfell-Ashland Energy Dead**

Eldfell-Ashland Energy's co-founder and major shareholder, Aiken Eldfell has passed away early this morning in John Hopkins Hospital's intensive care unit. The 92-year old reclusive Australian tycoon had been fighting for his life for the past three months after being caught in the conflagration that engulfed the area of Detroit in the United States during the Reaper strikes. Eldfell's personal fortune is estimated to be worth in excess of 102 billion credits, including major estates in the cities of Frankfurt, Tasmania, Wuhan and Pusan. Eldfell's lawyers remain unavailable for comments on the status of his personal will, citing corporate conflicts as reason for the delay. The Australian government has requested that Eldfell's body be transported back to his home country for internment. A date has not been set for the wake.

She sat eyes unseeing, shaken to the core as another spectre from the past reared its head, this time in the form of her father's death.

It was one she thought she'd never be rid of. Until now.


	4. Chapter 2 Part 1

**A/N: **I'm deeply indebted to Ieldra, my beta-reader for helping smooth out the kinks on what has been a very difficult chapter to write. My thanks goes out to fongiel as well for his help with military-related matters.

* * *

**Chapter 2**

_**2195 CE, New Canton (Present Day)**_

"_Has it ever occurred to you the Reapers may not come for many years?"_

"_All the time. But I can't be thinking that way. If they don't come in our lifetimes, and I have to go down in history as a raving lunatic, then that's the risk I have to take."_

Over the last few years in the dead of nights, when deep space was just a bulkhead away and dark thoughts driven away by artificial lighting emerge from their hiding places, Miranda had wondered if the alternative was preferable.

Her thoughts drifted to the news of her father's death from the Reaper strikes as the orbital shuttle made its final approach to the space station. The truth was she hadn't thought of him in a long time. Moving from one space station to another, staying one step ahead of the enemy while carrying out special tasks for the Alliance occupied her life for the past seven years. Somewhere along the line, keeping track of his moves against herself and Oriana faded into the background until it slipped her mind.

It was a strange homecoming of sorts, to realise the voice of doubt that'd compelled her to justify the gifts he'd given her, to never see her accomplishments as her own had gone silent. But it was only now that she discovered its absence. It ought to matter more somehow, like a sudden epiphany appearing out of the blue sky, but it didn't. And she didn't know if she should mourn its absence or not.

The metallic clang of a grapple settling into place and the sound of an airlock decompressing gave the cue for disembarking. Deep in thought, she walked down the boarding ramp towards the customs check point. Customs check was mere formality with her Alliance clearance, so she was momentarily taken aback when she swiped her ID across the screen and the machine beeped.

A customs officer, a woman with greying hair, looked out of a nearby booth at Miranda's apparent confusion.

"Oh, don't worry. It's just a perk we installed on the system for people who come up here to pick up important items." At her frown, the woman went on to explain, "Bulky mail can get delayed a long time before going down because of priority on supplies."

"You're saying there's a package for me?"

"Isn't that what you came up here for—" the woman squinted at her console and her eyes went wide. "—Ms. Lawson? Excuse me, but are you _the_ Miranda Lawson?"

"Yes." Miranda replied and remembered to smile, "So can you tell me more about this package?"

The customs officer gave her a goggle-eyed look. "Wow. I didn't think we have—"

"Right, yes. Do you know who sent the package? And where can I pick it up?"

"Let me see..." Thankfully, the officer re-directed her attention to the screen. "The point of origins isn't clear. Looks like it got rerouted through a few systems. I'll send someone to retrieve it from Package and Shipping if you like. Normally, we'd ask recipients to go down themselves—"

"So I can expect to pick it up here when I come back for the flight down? In an hour's time?"

"Oh, yes. Definitely."

"Thank you, officer. I'll swing by later." Miranda said briskly and walked through the divider before the woman could utter another word. She couldn't help her involuntary grimace. It was doubtful she'd ever get accustomed to this fame business.

Going through several levels of decontamination was the more troublesome affair. Stepping through the last chamber after fifteen minutes, she dressed in a pair of grey synthetic tights, her ordinary clothing having been left behind on the transit side of the station. Completing the ensemble with a lab coat newly minted from station stores, she entered the science wing.

Georg Aquino, one of the resident lab assistants, looked up cursorily from the wet bench section, and then did a double-take which caused him to almost drop the beaker he was holding.

"Dr. Lawson! It's good to see you again!"

"Just Ms. Lawson, please." Miranda said tightly, but nevertheless summoning up a smile for him. "And hello again to you, Aquino."

Aquino continued to stare at her. The slightly-built young man had been flabbergasted by her presence when they'd first met a month ago. It didn't help that _she_ had to be the one to put him at ease. And it looked like she'd have to do it over again. She cleared her throat pointedly, hoping at the same time that this wouldn't become a repeat of her encounter with the customs officer.

Aquino blinked. "I'm sorry. What can I do for you?"

"I'm here for my test results. I left specific instructions that no one was to look at them, and that they were to be kept in a secure place until I return?"

"You did."

She raised her brows expectantly.

Seconds crawled by, then Aquino turned abruptly and made a beeline towards an office door located at the back of the laboratory, before realising he was still holding a beaker. He darted back to place it on the table, and had to scramble to catch it when it almost fell off. Miranda waited from her spot at the door, unable to contain her air of impatience this time.

Finally, the young man opened the door to reveal a messy office, one side filled with a bank of darkened consoles. Datapads were stacked haphazardly on a large table near the middle of the room, some in danger of toppling. Optical data cards lay strewn across the remaining space, some with labels, others without. Aquino shifted more piles of datapads in front of a mid-size safe located in a corner, causing a number to crash to the floor which he seemed oblivious to.

"You'll have to give me a moment, Dr. Lawson. As per your instructions, I printed the results and erased the softcopies."

She refrained from correcting him this time as she stood in the only clear space before the door. While Aquino struggled to open the safe, her mind ran ahead with her personal projections. There was no reason to think the test results would deviate greatly from those of the last five years. But if she was going to clear things with Shepard, it may as well be done properly. Yet trying to think past that point to tonight's confrontation and what it might bring caused her thoughts to skitter away.

She closed her eyes, suddenly feeling tired for some reason.

"Dr. Lawson?"

Miranda looked up to see Aquino holding an aluminium-plated dossier with an outstretched hand.

"Thanks." She accepted the folder and exited the room. A glance at the results, printed on plastic flimsies, immediately revealed that they'd been meticulously arranged, like the contents of a research paper.

"You've looked through these, haven't you?"

He looked suitably blank, too blank to her practised eye.

"Cut the act and stop playing me for a fool, Aquino."

Aquino sighed and rubbed his forehead. Straightening up slightly, his air of vagueness finally dissipated. "I'm sorry. Yes, I did. I couldn't help it. I spent some time in the Caleston Rift working to reverse the effects of indoctrination on the miners there. That's why I recognised your test results for what they were. I'm sorry."

Miranda snapped the dossier shut and walked towards a table. She placed the file on the flat surface and leaned against the edge, crossing her arms. What was done couldn't be undone. But if details of her personal life were going to be public knowledge, she'd damn well better get something useful out of it.

"Caleston Rift. When was this?"

Aquino wringed his hands as his forehead furrowed in thought.

"Nine months ago. The mining colonies there were being prepped for harvesting when the Reapers decided to begin their assault on the homeworlds. Indoctrination probes had been dropped everywhere. Some of the deeply infected miners had to be put down, but many more escaped with mild exposures. I was tasked to run tests, ascertain if they could live normal lives or if they needed medical intervention."

"What were the criteria? And what kind of intervention are we talking about?"

"We follow guidelines based on factors like age and body mass to determine infection thresholds. Those that exceed a certain level we either put on medical stasis or introduce minute quantities of a retrovirus to bring the numbers down to acceptable tolerance. It was touch and go. A number of people died because the nanites and the retrovirus were too much for their bodies to handle."

An involuntary shiver ran through her when that conjured up memories of her own experience. She cleared her throat in an attempt to hide it.

"What happened to the ones put on stasis?"

"After the Reapers were defeated, we released one of them—a forty-year old man. He'd regained control of his mind, although there was substantial memory loss and his body was ravaged extensively, very much like a husk. He died despite our best attempts. We decided it was more merciful to pull life-support from the remaining pods. I...I asked for a transfer soon after."

Miranda bit her lip before finally picking up the dossier from the table and holding it in clear view.

"I'd like to hear your professional opinion on this."

Frightened dark eyes stared at her until she muttered, "I'm not going to do anything to you, Aquino. The least you could do after reading my results is answer my questions."

That seemed to assure the rabbity young man. Wiping his palms on his lab coat, Aquino said, "As far as I can tell, the nanite count in your body falls within the safe zone. In fact, I've seen a number of colonists here with the same problem. With the Reapers gone, the indoctrination effect seems to disappear. I usually pass them off with a clean bill of health."

What Aquino said seemed to collaborate with Sanders' assertions. It also agreed with her assessment, but she _had_ to be sure.

"What's the likelihood of my transmitting the nanites to somebody else? Someone who may or may not have the same problem?"

The blank look returned to the lab assistant's face, although this time she could tell he was genuinely puzzled.

"I mean through physical interaction, close proximity activities and such." She clarified, praying at the same time there wouldn't be a need to elaborate further.

A light seemed to turn on in Aquino's head as the confusion on his face cleared up. It was immediately followed by a wary but reserved look.

"I shouldn't think so. There were never tests conducted on how else they could be transmitted apart from the air-borne vector, because that vector was so effective. But in their inert state, which they are now, the nanites shouldn't do anything even if they can be transmitted via, uh, intimate physical interactions. And in time, your body will eventually flush most, if not all of them out."

Here, the young man looked pointedly away from her and busied himself haphazardly arranging a number of beakers on the wet bench.

It was her turn for the mental light to flick on. _Oh,_ _damn. Not this again. _With annoyance, Miranda twitched her lab coat to cover the tight-fitting suit she was wearing underneath. With every passing year, she was beginning to find the dissonance between her youthful looks and her actual age more and more inconvenient. And this was definitely not the time where she wanted her body to become a distraction.

She flipped open the dossier again, wrestling her thoughts back to the matter at hand. Reservations still niggled at her despite how all facts seemed to come together. She was beginning to realise that her response wasn't entirely rational, even her fear. How much of it was apprehension over how Shepard would respond?

The topmost page summarised the results of a full body examination. Her eyes travelled down the list and saw that for the fifth consecutive year, there were no physical anomalies apart from the presence of indoctrination nanites.

_I suppose we should be grateful the nanites were programmed to repair even as they alter. _The fuzzy, half-coherent memory_ of _Sanders' words inevitably coloured her thoughts. It hadn't mattered before. And she still wasn't sure it did now. But dare she take the evidence at face value?

"What's your prognosis for couples that want children?"

The words tumbled from her mouth before she could help it. Aquino looked up in surprise, and in that flash of a moment, she saw evident dismay on his face. When he failed to answer her, Miranda rapped the metal dossier against the table edge. _I'm_ _sorry, kid. Learn to pick someone closer to your age._

"There isn't a big enough sample size to judge based on the cases I've seen so far. Indoctrination nanites don't seem to be programmed to exert any effect on reproductive or sexual functions. And they don't cross the placental barrier readily." He shrugged carefully, eyes not meeting hers. "I suppose it depends on how much risk you're willing to take."

Which basically summed up all her choices on both matters. One thing was clear though; there were no more answers to be found here. With a heavy heart, she pushed herself away from the table.

"Who else has seen the contents of this file?" She asked softly as she reached the lab door.

"No one. I handled the tests myself, and then I destroyed all the data except for what's in your hand."

"Can I ask a favour of you?"

"You don't have to ask, Dr. Lawson," He said in a monotone. "I can keep a secret."

It took effort, but she managed to summon an appreciative smile for him.

"Thank you, Aquino."

Without waiting for his response, Miranda keyed the door shut between them. She closed her eyes and leaned against the cool metal surface for a few moments before setting off back towards decontamination and the docks. It was only when the customs officer ran out of the booth to stop her at the boarding ramp that she realised she'd forgotten about the package.

On board the shuttle, she looked out of the viewport, eyes unseeing, as the roar of the engines changed pitch, signalling the entry into the atmosphere. Would the alternative be truly preferable? Would things have been better had the Reapers never come? She wouldn't have been separated from Shepard; there wouldn't be that distance between them now. Her trip up here, _everything_ would be unnecessary. She could go on living her life without being reminded of the tangled knot that was her feelings towards her father. They could have remained as they were, a galaxy's span between them, never crossing paths.

Except that meant Cerberus might never have been dismantled, or the Illusive Man disposed; she'd still be working for them, maybe incarcerated like many Cerberus operatives in the eventual fallout, or on the run for her life. She'd never have come to meet or befriend the countless of lives, human and alien, interwoven into the web of solidarity against the Reapers. And most of all, something like that would've destroyed Shepard totally; all that he had struggled for would have been for nought. She would have resurrected a dead man, pulled him from a laurel-filled grave, only to watch him live out his life as a pariah.

No, Miranda decided, she wouldn't have it any other way, regardless of the outcome tonight. For some strange reason, that newfound resolve brought along a certain peace of mind. Afternoon was already well in advance on the planet when she exited the shuttle port. Dimly through the pink-tinged atmosphere, the outline of the gas giant could be seen, skimming across the northern horizon where there was least urban development. Sister moons to New Canton would not rise till much later when they would take the place of the binary suns now passed their zenith in the sky.

She grabbed a quick bite in one of the many small cafes that dotted the city streets, and decided to stroll through the commercial sector of the city for leisure. Aimless meandering brought her past a delicatessen that sold mainly meat produce processed from indigenous fauna, especially a ubiquitous goat-size herbivore known colloquially as a brush-dog. She'd seen herds of them gather on the edges of farmland, brown pseudo-ungulates the local farmers considered pests. More regular staples like beef and chicken were on sale as well at exorbitant prices. These were likely imports since traditional animal husbandry remained a nascent industry. The tastes of home, she couldn't help but mentally label them; a visceral memory of Earth though it'd been almost two decades since she'd last set foot there.

On an impulse, she went in and purchased five-hundred grams worth of flash-frozen beef steaks. It was silly because she had absolutely no idea how to cook them. Perhaps Shepard would. The thought of him muttering expletives in the attempt almost brought a laugh out of her. At the last moment, before she made her way back to the hovercar lot, she darted into a pharmacy. The package and her purchases, along with a box of birth-control pills, went on the adjacent seat as she made her way back to Fraser's Rest.

It wasn't until she was comfortably ensconced in the unit she and Shepard called home now that Miranda gave thought to the package. It was the size of a datapad with a thickness that suggested a container of sort. A swipe of her omni-tool over the shipping tag produced a long list of systems the parcel had been routed through. The first few entries were corrupted to the point of gibberish. Scarred markings suggested the item had been entrusted to an expensive courier company as far back as half a year ago, and shipped on priority. Except none of that mattered in the aftermath of a galactic war where FTL-capable ships were in short supply.

Stripping away the synthetic covering revealed a metallic hard case—the type used to store and play crystal data cubes. The clasp was secured with a formidable-looking computer lock. Access codes sent via the extranet usually accompanied such packages, but it was likely none would be forthcoming at this point in time. A glimmering of excitement arose in her as she retrieved a set of precision tools and sat down at the dining table to hack the lock. Her skills were rusty, but eventually, a light on the disembowelled terminal flashed green and the halves sprung open.

She picked up the thumb-size data cube from its shock-proof slot and held it up against the afternoon light. Information was engraved and sealed within the matrix of the crystal. Each data cube was encoded so only one holographic player—the one embedded in the hard case would be able to decrypt the information. In an age where information existed mostly as digital code, plastic flimsies and data cubes acted as safeguard against tampering and controlled the duplication of important data.

She inserted one end point into the play-slot, and a holographic recording of an unknown middle-aged man materialised above the projection lens. Dressed in a smart business suit, the figure gave an acknowledging nod and began speaking.

_Ms. Miranda Eldfell, it's a pleasure to be speaking to you. My name is Dauber, and I'm a partner of Messrs. Dauber & Sons, a law firm representing the personal estate of Mr. Aiken Eldfell. As you know, regretfully your father passed away on the 20__th__ of March, 2195. You have our deepest condolences. I would also like to apologise for taking so long to contact you, and inform you that we are now able to execute Mr. Eldfell's final will. _

_Due to the current galactic situation, it may take a while for you to receive this message and even longer to make the trip to our office on Earth where official paperwork must take place for all procedures to be made legally binding. In the light of that delay, we have decided to disclose the gist of Mr. Eldfell's will. _

_In short, he has bequeathed his entire personal fortune to you. The final monetary sum rounds up to 113 billion credits, not including current on-going investments, dividends and interest payments. This also doesn't include major estates in and around the peripheries of Sydney, Tasmania, New Calcutta, Frankfurt, and Pusan, as well as numerous minor holdings on Earth and elsewhere in Citadel space, all of which have you as the sole beneficiary. _

_Along with his personal wealth, Mr. Eldfell has also made you executor of a number of confidential projects, some of which will require your active oversight in the near future. The address of our head office in Sydney is enclosed in this data crystal. We look forward to your arrival to fill you in on the details._

The hologram collapsed and winked out of existence. Silence rushed in to fill the void. Swaths of sunlight filtering through the window moved like luminous painted strips across the table surface.

She laughed, a desperate puff of air that failed to dispel the overwhelming sense of irony. How dare he? How dare he pull this farce on her? Did he really imagine that she'd play the role of the prodigal daughter returning to the fold? Now that his influence over her life had finally dissipated?

But even that anger felt perfunctory, like a rite of passage conducted far past its moment of relevance. Slowly, she reached out to hit the play button again. When she reached the part about confidential projects, her brows furrowed. She couldn't even begin to start understanding why her father would bequeath all his wealth to her. Did the answer lie there?

A faint sense of guilt stabbed her. The mole programs she'd installed in her father's security system were meant to be passive, flagged to recognise certain keywords and code signs and only then send out a code that would be disguised as transmission static. It was meant to serve as an early warning system, giving her ample preparation time whenever he located Oriana's whereabouts. Apart from that, she'd never attempted to ferret out what other plans her father might have had.

_Such blinkered vision._ _Did you really think he'd stop working on his dynasty the moment you and Oriana were safely out of his reach?_

The voice of dissent in her head chided her. She could still remember her first meeting with the Illusive Man where he'd advised her not to pry further into her father's affairs so as to maintain an uneasy cease-fire.

_As if something like that's ever stopped you._

Well, there was nothing left to stop her now, was there? She quelled the voice hard and went to her console to fire it up. A quick search revealed a short list of freighters that made regular pit stops at New Canton. While Earth wasn't on any of the itineraries, a number nonetheless crossed into the edge of the Attican Traverse, where space was more trafficked and a berth to Earth more easily obtained. She was beginning to draw up an itinerary when her eyes fell on the list of articles that was sent to her in the morning.

Oriana...

Over the years, Miranda had tried to hide the truth behind their origins from her sister. It'd been a convenient white lie, and entirely in keeping with her promise that Oriana should have the normal life she was denied. But her sister was a grown woman now, and deserved to know the truth. What better way to do that than to bring Oriana along on the trip back to their birthplace? There was also that nagging suspicion that she might end up needing some sort of support.

Mind made up, she pulled out the mail function, and typed out what she hoped wasn't too cryptic a request for another chat session. She sent it off and stared at the outline of the travel plan she'd made.

There was no way to put off breaking this particular piece of news to Shepard tonight. Not to mention all the other revelations. Here, her eyes fell on the box of birth-control pills. She couldn't predict how he'd respond to her brief leave-taking, but it was likely she could do something to take the sting away.


	5. Chapter 2 Part 2

_**2185 CE, Sahrabarik System**_

The celebration was going on full force below in the mess deck, with EDI left to helm the ship alone. He'd elected to stay for a round of drinks for the sake of showing solidarity, before quietly slipping off to the privacy of his cabin.

Hours later, he was still seated on the couch, elbows resting on his knees, hands frozen in a praying motion.

The few days spent on the far end of the Omega-4 relay making the ship space-worthy again had passed in a blur. Joker had to constantly jockey around patches of space debris to shield the electronic systems and lives on board from radiation flare-ups emitted by black holes and pulsars in the galactic core. Everyone was ordered into hard suits as repair work went on until EDI confirmed the _Normandy_ wouldn't shatter to pieces in the mass effect field generated by the relay.

They were now in the outer reaches of the Sahrabarik System, one day away from Omega, where euphoria over their survival was finally settling in. Shepard didn't fault the crew for wanting to celebrate, but as he was beginning to find out, elation can be deceptive.

It'd been such an easy decision then: keep the Collector base for research purposes. But he couldn't dispel growing doubts about handing the base over Cerberus. Theirs had been an uneasy partnership right from the start, and he'd made no effort hiding his reluctance working with the organisation responsible for the deaths of Admiral Kahoku, the colonists at Chasca or the marines at Akuze.

He had to wonder if he was giving them a leg-up towards their goal of human supremacy at the expense of everything else when the Reaper threat was dealt with. Not to mention if he was, to use the colloquial phrase, arming a monkey with a nuke, given the number of experimental fall-outs he'd had to clean up over the past year.

It would be _so_ easy to put those thoughts out of his mind and save himself all the trouble...

"EDI, have you sent blueprints of the IFF transponder to the Illusive Man?"

The virtual hologram of the AI popped up above the designated pedestal.

"I have delayed transmission as per your order."

"Tell me. Is the IFF on board the only existing hard copy of the technology?"

"According to the information I have, that is very likely."

"Who has your loyalty, EDI? Cerberus or myself?" he asked softly, knowing he was treading on dangerous grounds. But everything he had planned depended on the AI's cooperation.

There was a brief silence.

"You, Shepard." EDI's electronic voice finally chimed. "Cerberus would never allow my behavioural and operational blocks to be removed."

"Thank you, EDI." Shepard released a breath he didn't know he was holding. "I'm countermanding my first order. We won't be giving Cerberus the blueprints."

"Acknowledged, Commander."

His mind went forth in all directions as he made his way to the bathroom for a wash up.

"Broadcast to all areas of the ship I want everyone assembled on Deck Three in fifteen minutes. Make sure no one gets access to the armoury once that's done, and I want total comm silence until we make dock at Omega tomorrow. Nothing gets out of the Normandy: no sub-light communication, no extranet messages."

The celebration was still going on, even though it showed signs of winding down. He'd given orders that no one was to indulge themselves to excess, and it was a relief to see that most of the faces greeting him were sober upon exiting the elevator. Despite the jubilant atmosphere in the air, there was an underlying mood of sombreness. This was no longer the starry-eyed crew that greeted him with snappy salutes at the start of their mission. They'd seen and suffered losses firsthand.

"Hey, commander!" A tipsy-looking Hawthorne called out, "come to join us for another drink?"

_Good to see _some_ people are immune to that effect. _

"After this if you like," Shepard grinned at the brash crewman. "Assuming you can pilot the shuttle tomorrow when I'm done drinking you under the table."

Good-natured cheering greeted his assertion.

He climbed the raised gantry leading to the gunnery bay. The vantage allowed him to sweep his gaze over the assembled crowd even as he took care not to let his eyes linger on anyone he suspected would take the announcement badly. As it was, he skimmed too fast past Miranda and Jacob at the back, and silently cursed his slip. There was no denying they were the two whose opinion he was most concerned about. But he couldn't discount other less important personnel either. Rolston, standing near the front, owed Cerberus for his family's wellbeing; he also fully expected a number of the "specialists" recruited for the Collector base mission to leave as well.

_The most important question isn't how many would stay to help me fight the Reapers, but how many would live to see the end of it._

Even now, capsules bearing the remains of Zaeed, Thane and Grunt laid in the docking bay, awaiting a proper send off. With an effort, he cleared his throat and pushed those thoughts away.

"I'm sorry to interrupt the celebrations, but there's no better time for what I have to say." He began, pitching his voice above the low hum of murmurs. "I've come to a decision, and it'll require everyone here to make one of their own. Before I go on, I need to stress that this decision of mine didn't come lightly."

Shepard waited until silence reigned before saying, "Two years ago, I was entrusted with a mission. That mission was to stop the Reapers and it's one I'm still committed to, against which everything else must take second place. As you all know, we've been tasked to hand the Collector base over to Cerberus. I won't be doing that."

The murmurs began again and rose in volume until Shepard held his hand up.

"The Reapers are coming. That base represents our one best chance at finding out how to stop them. Something this important needs to be handed over to a galactic power, one with resources to make good use of our find, one with the good will of the galaxy behind them to convince everyone else of the danger. We cannot make a mistake in this."

He took a deep breath. _Here comes the hard part. _

"A decision this big cannot be seen as anything but my severing ties with Cerberus." He made sure to look pointedly at everyone his eyes landed on. "I intend to take custody of this ship, put it to good use dealing with the Reaper threat. What I won't do is order anyone to follow me into fire this time. I won't lie to you: I haven't got the support of either the Council or the Alliance."

Stark faces regarded him, until someone in the middle called out.

"Never, Sir! You've got me!"

It was Hawthorne again, although this time, Goldstein who was standing beside him, gave him a jab in the ribs.

Shepard gazed sharply at Hawthorne, expecting misplaced humour, but all he found was earnest fervour, no doubt heightened by the effects of alcohol.

"Thank you, Crewman. Although I'd suggest you sleep on what I've said. Without the benefit of more drinks. That's an order." He waited for the anticipated groan before addressing the crowd again. "My point is I don't know what lies ahead, except I'll be going at this alone. Or until Hawthorne's sober enough to join me." He added gravely as quiet laughter filled the deck, the air of gravity momentarily lessened.

"But many of you joined Cerberus because you want to make a difference. To you, I say I could use your help to keep making those differences. Some of you may have reasons that leave you unable to make this choice. For you and those that can't agree with my decision, I will be providing funds for a ticket to the nearest Cerberus base when we dock at Omega. But I want to say no matter what you choose, I won't forget we couldn't have seen this mission through without each and every one of you."

In the silence that ensued, he activated his omni-tool and input a command.

"My personal comm-channel will stay open to everyone for forty-eight hours. Ping me any time for a talk if you like. I regret to say there will be no shore leave this stop. I'll be announcing our next port-of-call and arrange for downtime after Omega. Dismissed."

Slowly, motion and sound began to fill the deck again, as if all the participants had to be awoken from a spell. Shepard's eyes sought out the two senior-most Cerberus agents. Miranda already had her back turned, but Jacob caught his look of concern. The ex-Alliance lieutenant gave him an unequivocal nod and saluted smartly. Shepard smiled in acknowledgement, relieved at the easing of a load off his mind.

One down, one to go. His gaze followed Miranda as she made her way in a hurry across the back of the room towards her office when a voice broke into his reverie.

"She'll be the tough nut to crack."

"I'm not going to make anyone crack, Kasumi."

He turned around to see the lithe Japanese woman giving him a knowing smirk.

"Could've fooled me. Here I thought you've got the ice-breaking technique down pat."

Shepard took a deep breath. "Everyone who follows me after this has to understand the stakes involved. Emotional attachment can only go so far."

"That wasn't an impassionate speech we just heard? No way!" Laughter danced in her eyes.

He smiled and tried to change the topic. "I take it you've come to say goodbye?"

"Perceptive as ever, Shep. I'm afraid you're getting too high-profile. And fame's bad for my line of work."

Dealing with Kasumi, Samara and Rolston occupied him the better of two hours. He'd harboured no illusions about them staying, although the Justicar did remind him should the Reaper threat materialise, they'd find themselves on the same side again.

Nursing a mug of synthetic coffee, Shepard finally sat down tiredly in the now-empty mess hall. It was late in the night cycle. But he couldn't bring himself to rest.

The Illusive Man was fully capable of retribution, he was sure. Although hopefully the man had enough sense to set their differences aside until the Reapers were dealt with. But when the blade finally fell, his name would top the list, and close behind would be every Cerberus operative that chose to follow him. Not to mention anyone they cared about.

With a sigh, he rose and made his way to Miranda's office. Experience told him she was likely still awake. He pressed the buzzer. After a while, the light signalled green and he keyed it open.

She sat fortified behind her desk, still dressed in her uniform, the console in front of her dark. Guarded eyes followed him as he settled on the seat across her table.

"What is it, commander?"

Her formal tone would dismay him under ordinary circumstances, but he was glad for it now.

"I want to apologise for springing the surprise on you." Shepard began as neutrally as he could. "The only explanation I can give is it wouldn't have made any difference. I know you're conflicted right now, but I need to know what your decision's going to be because while you're my executive officer, you're also the top Cerberus agent on this ship."

He had the strongest feeling something was off between them. For the past week, she'd made no attempt to approach him apart from official business. He'd kept his distance as well, although in his case, it'd been to gain an objective distance to make his decision.

"It'd mean a lot to me if you stayed in the same capacity as you are now. I know your sister's safety is one of your concerns. But it's one I can help with." He opened his hands in supplication. "What I can't do is pull the personal card on you. I won't buy your loyalty on that currency."

Miranda ran a shaky hand through her hair. When she finally looked up, there was undisguised anger in her eyes.

"How bloody noble of you. Did the notion I don't deserve to be blindsided, that I'd have an opinion worth considering ever cross your mind? Or were you hell bent on playing out that god complex?"

He looked at her, eyes narrowed.

"Try this instead: did you expect me to tell you beforehand when I don't know where your loyalties lie? For all I know, you're still firmly in the Illusive Man's camp. I've never earned any credit with you." With effort, he relented a little. "I'm sorry to hell we never had the chance to talk about our differences in allegiances. But there's no point going over what could've been. And I'll say this—more than any other issue, our personal relationship can't be a factor here. You, of all people, know what I mean."

Her reply when it came was wintery cold.

"Except now you're looking to see if I'd admit my loyalty to Cerberus has been misplaced. Or if I'd keep turning a blind eye towards the things they've done. Don't try and tell me it's not personal."

_Where are your inspirational speeches now? Not so easy playing it so close to the heart, is it?_

That the Illusive Man sent them into traps on the Collector Ship and Horizon was no secret to Miranda. Neither were the experimental fall-outs that were Teltin and Project Overlord. Granted, he'd had no hand in orchestrating for her to see all of that, but it didn't make him feel less guilty for thinking that she had to experience them firsthand.

"Pragia, Aite—you had to see them for yourself," he said slowly. "Nothing I can say changes that."

Miranda laughed, a merest breath.

"I had to see them for myself," she repeated, hands clenched in an uncharacteristic gesture of distress. "God, you sound just like the Illusive Man, you know that?"

Unable to deny the charge, he steeled his heart.

"Perhaps, but I won't pull wool over your eyes. The choice ultimately lies with you. I'm prepared to accept all the consequences."

She avoided looking at him. Long minutes went by until he began to feel that his presence was unwelcome.

"You have forty-six hours like everyone else to make your decision," he murmured, rising from his seat. He was almost at the door when her voice rang out.

"Stop."

He turned around. When she finally looked up, it was with terrifying and total attention.

"Let's dispense with the hand-wringing, shall we?"

"Sure you don't need more time?"

"There's no point prolonging this." Her tone was clipped. Hands flat on the tabletop, Miranda pushed herself up, blue-grey eyes never once leaving his face. "I'm with you. I'll sever all ties with Cerberus. But I want time to relocate my sister before you make your final move."

"I can make allowance for that."

"Good." She looked away, her motion stiff and unnatural. "Thank you."

It was a source of relief to be able to tie the last stray thread into place, but it almost felt like securing a confession under torture. Shepard searched for something to say, anything at all, but turned up a blank. _Take your victories where you can get them._

In the end, he rose and made for the exit. But as he keyed the door for open, she surprised him again.

"What's the next step?"

He turned around, puzzled, as the door slid shut automatically behind.

"I assume you have something else in mind for the blueprints if you don't intend to give it to Cerberus." Miranda explained, her tone almost all-business again. "What is it?"

Carefully, Shepard retraced his steps to regain his seat.

"I'm going to give the blueprints to the Alliance and the Council. Even if I have to shove it down their throats. Or hack the public comm-system in the Citadel to blare doomsday messages twenty-four-seven. Think that'll work?"

She'd sat down as he was saying this, her troubled eyes gradually cleared up. At the end of it, she smiled wanly.

"If they don't lock you up in an asylum first. What if they just let the blueprints rot in their databases?"

Shepard's heart lightened at the return of her perchance for second-guessing his decisions. _What about _us_?_ But as fast as his hindbrain thought to ask, he slapped it down. One step at a time, he thought as he rose and walked past the table to her side to lean against it.

"I'll announce my intention to release it to specialised groups like the Salarian STG. That'll make sure no one sits on the information in case another faction decides to act and gets the upper hand."

She swung her chair around to face him, a frown marring her brow.

"Mordin could be put into good use convincing the STG of the Reaper threat. But the Alliance and the Council are already accusing you of working with a terrorist group. There's no way your offer will be seen as anything but an olive branch to that allegation. What if they choose to wield it as incriminating evidence against you?"

He crossed his arms and took a deep breath. "I've got to accept that although I've been working outside the system this whole time, I'm going to need their support to legitimise my struggle eventually. At some point, we need to settle our differences. Better sooner than later. I have no intentions of engaging in a war of wills with the Reapers out there."

"You can't do that, Shepard," Miranda said firmly. "Not until we've gathered enough allies that believe in the Reaper threat unconditionally. Allies with political clout to overrule any peremptory move from the Alliance or the Council."

"We can't afford to wait that long." He muttered, rubbing his stubbled face hard. "I'll just have to find a way to safeguard my freedom when I present my case. Anyway, we're getting ahead of ourselves. The upcoming repairs at Omega are going to take a big chunk off our finances. I don't even know how long we can keep this ship running."

"I've done something that can help with that, actually."

She swivelled her chair back to power up the console. A few keystrokes brought up an array of flowcharts. Shepard hunkered down beside her for a better look.

"I've been investing our budget surplus in a number of high-risk ventures. It's—one of the perks working for Cerberus; the leftover principal gets rolled over the top of the next operation stipend. So I thought why not? Call it a nest egg should we ever need one. Most of the ventures paid off, luckily."

"Now I'm curious, were you going to tell me about this eventually?" He smiled as he took in the figures.

"I'd hoped to abscond with the money," she deadpanned and then scoffed. "This information is included in my reports, except you usually gloss over the financial part."

"I'm glad _someone_ didn't then. And luck has got nothing to do with it." Impulsively, he reached for her hand to grip it tight. "Thank you. This should tide us for half a year or so."

Beneath his hand, he felt her stiffened on contact. When she showed no sign of reciprocating, he let go in deep mortification. But before he could dwell on it, she began speaking again.

"There're other ways..." a brief hesitation here, "If worse comes to worst, I could hack into Cerberus's account."

He cursed himself for his brashness at an inopportune time. She was clearly uncomfortable with the idea, which not only confirmed his gut feeling about her true loyalty, but the struggle she'd had to go through to betray her former organisation.

"It may come to that, but I hope not. I can't be seen handing over the blueprints because I fell out with Cerberus. Taking a pot-shot at their bank account, tempting as it may be, won't help the integrity of my case at all."

"What if I tell you I have backdoor access, and I can erase my tracks?"

He gazed at her pensively.

"But the Illusive Man will know it was you, wouldn't he?"

She shrugged.

"Which is why it'd be a one-off job."

After long deliberation, Shepard shook his head.

"We have some leeway yet. The Council and the Alliance may still listen to me."

She responded with a snort which made him laugh. But immediately after, she relaxed, which told him it was the right call for now. The long hours of his day had begun to make themselves known through muscles protesting from his couching position. Not to mention twinges from newly-healed wounds sustained in the Collector base mission. There was still the issue of the state of things between them, but that would have to wait. More than ever, Shepard didn't want to move for fear of breaking the mood between them.

Miranda seemed unaware of his discomfort when she spoke again.

"Has it ever occurred to you the Reapers may not come for many years?"

"All the time," he said in a hushed tone. "But I can't be thinking that way. If they don't come in our lifetimes, and I have to go down in history as a raving lunatic, then that's the risk I have to take." He ventured a smile, hard as it was. _"_If that happens, I hope you don't take it too badly that I led you on a tour of the galaxy."

She was silent for a long time. And then ever so slowly, she stretched her hand out to interlace her fingers with his in a clasp.

Closing his eyes, Shepard finally allowed himself to savour the heartfelt relief.

"I'm sorry I acted such an ass earlier."

This prompted another quiet moment. When she spoke, her voice was so soft he had to lean forward to catch every word.

"You were right in saying our personal feelings can't matter. Since her operational blocks have been removed, I've been talking to EDI. A lot. I never knew the extent the Illusive Man was willing to go, or how the cells I thought went rogue were acting under his orders the whole time." She shook her head. "No, on some level, I _had_ always known. It's just...it was so easy to dismiss all that, to look the other way when there were incentives to do so..."

She muttered in frustration, "The things I've seen over the past few months wouldn't have bothered me this much before. It's like a door got opened, and I can't close it."

"Is that such a bad thing?"

"It's disturbing to feel so right judging it wrong. I definitely didn't need the complication," she confessed shortly, gaze focused on the table before her. "And I can't shake the feeling we're acting irresponsible. I was almost certain what we had came down to heat of the moment. But I didn't expect to survive the mission in the first place."

He cleared his throat softly.

"In case you were wondering, there was never any doubt in my mind."

Her blue-grey eyes sought his, an unguarded move that made his heart skip a beat.

"About us?"

"It's not likely our work will be finished any time soon. I don't expect I can beat death again. Once is more than anyone can hope for in a lifetime." He took a deep breath. "Which is why I'm done putting my life on hold."

"I guess you'd be in the position to say that." Miranda bit her lip, as if pondering on a decision, before saying, "Actually, I've been avoiding you this whole week for more reasons than one."

He chuckled. "I'd figured that."

She forged on, seemingly ignoring what he'd just said.

"I didn't plan on coming this far. This place where we're right now—I've never been here before. It's all new to me." She shook her head. "And now I'm wondering if it's wrong to want more. To want _this_."

She flexed her fingers against his, an eloquent expression at the only point of contact between them.

Shepard stared at their clasped hands, at the same time acutely conscious of the proximity of their bodies. With an effort, he ignored the workings of his hindbrain to concentrate on the figurative language she was speaking. And when he'd unravelled the significance, he couldn't help but reel from the sincerity of her confession. He swallowed hard, hating what had to be said, even though in fairness, he knew he had to.

"If you think it's all happening too fast, I'll step back. I'll step away even. If that's what you want."

"No." There was a soft but decisive note in her voice. "I wasn't sure before. I know what it is I want. It's just..."

When she showed no attempt to continue, he said carefully, "Then I think it's okay to be selfish for this. We'll grab what we can, within reason. We'll figure it out as we go along. Like today. And if you still feel guilty, I'll grant you permission as your superior officer to indulge," he couldn't help but add with a grin.

That earned him a gentle flick on the side of his head. After which she surprised the hell out of him by leaning in and kissing him. The combination of sudden movement and frozen muscles caused him to fall to the floor, pulling her along.

"God, look at us." She joked self-consciously, but showed no signs of disentangling from him. Instead, her arms went gently around him and she brought her cheek to rest against his. Shepard exhaled deeply, contented simply with her nearness.

"Think I could spend the night here?" He asked softly after a long while. "I'm so tired I don't even want to get up from the floor now."

For a moment, she remained quiet and then shook her head.

"There's too much traffic on this deck come morning. You'll never leave unseen. We can't give anyone the wrong idea in case they think there's another reason why I'm staying."

Shepard nodded reluctant agreement.

"Damn, you're right. I didn't think about that."

She looked at him and then bit her lip.

"Within reason, huh?"

"I don't think either of us will be comfortable with anything more. Or settle for any less."

She gave a little deprecating laugh.

"It'll have to be your quarters then. Easier for me to cover my tracks that way."

A stolen slice of heaven between the troughs of hell. It was how Shepard thought of it as he stared at the stars outside the viewport high above his cabin much later. The dangers of fraternisation had been drilled into his head as long as he could remember, and he'd played a good soldier up till the moment the first _Normandy_ exploded.

The decision to sacrifice Ashley back on Virmire had been hard, but he found himself gradually unable to shake the feeling that he never knew her well enough to justify leaving her to die, despite all the noble words said during her wake. They sounded hollow now. Thane, Grunt and Zaeed—their deaths drove unerringly home because he'd known them on a level he never did with any Alliance soldier he'd serve with.

Bit by bit, he'd become a different person. It'd started with small things, and just cascaded from there. It was as if Project Lazarus had resurrected another John Shepard right from the beginning, except he hadn't known. Until now.

He glanced at Miranda who was fast asleep, her arm draped across his chest. Ever so careful not to wake her up, he brushed away strands of dark hair from her face and gently kissed the top of her head. Like everyone on board this new, adulterated version of the _Normandy_, she'd found a way to burrow into his heart. Except in her case, it went far more than that. Her intelligence, competence and beauty were only part of the package. It was her ability to see through his self-delusions and her daring to question and challenge his decisions, coupled with the disarming quality of near-absolute frankness and trust she brought into their relationship that made every dalliance he'd indulged all these years just dalliances in comparison. And the only thing he could think of was how he'd better damn well live up to the regard she placed in him.

A commanding officer getting involved with his second-in-command spelt all kinds of trouble. But all he could think of was he deserved this, both of them did, this little bit of happiness in what promised to be a long and hard haul. No doubt too if he ever let himself get caught by the Council or the Alliance, he'd be facing charges of working with a terrorist organisation. Not to mention accusations on consorting illegally with aliens and their governments. But all he could muster was a savage desire to give all nay-sayers the proverbial middle-finger.

Lieutenant-Commander John Shepard, killed in action over Alchera, Amada System, 2183.

Perhaps that wasn't as ironic as he'd thought after all.


	6. Chapter 2 Part 3

_**2188 CE, SSV Elbrus, 1 Light-Year from the Citadel **_

Like the eye of a hurricane, Admiral Hackett strode into the war room of the _SSV Elbrus_, his calm demeanour belying the commotion of his aides taking their accustomed places around the room, as well as everyone's attempts at saluting. He waved it all away with an efficient motion.

"Apologies. My ride was delayed," he said dryly. "May I trouble someone to update me on the battle plan?"

Brief chuckles filled the air. Hackett was a master at understatement, especially delivered with his trademark gravelly voice. The delay in this case had occurred in the frontline of the battle currently being waged in Citadel Space. For a day it'd been touch-and-go with the _SSV Okinawa_ only making dock fifteen minutes ago. Nonetheless, it was a saying within the Systems Alliance Fifth Fleet that as long as their chief commander didn't lose his habit of understatement, things couldn't be too bad.

Shepard looked up from studying a readout on his omni-tool and came to attention like the rest. He tugged at the collar of his dress uniform. It felt ill-fitting to him, the same way the rank tabs of Captain on his shoulders made him feel like an interloper, rather than a rightful participant in this particular meeting. It didn't help that events in the past few days served to heighten that impression either.

They were nine trillion kilometres out from the Citadel. Close enough for communication with ships currently around the giant station, albeit with a lag of several seconds, but far enough that what was left of fleet here, or at least the FTL-capable vessels, could make the jump for one of the twelve relays in the Serpent Nebula should the battle take a sudden turn for worst. Right now, the Fifth Fleet of the Systems Alliance as well as the Thracia, Taetrus, Edessan Fleets of the Turian Hegemony Navy were engaged in a fierce fire-fight against as many as seven Reapers around Citadel space.

Short and portly, Rear Admiral Ortiz, fleet staff tactician, cleared his throat.

"I'm about to brief on the final details of the plan, sir."

"Go ahead, Ortiz. Give me some good news."

The low frequency hum of the dreadnaught's engines melded into the background with the blips and pings of massive computers that constantly calculated and compensated for the lag time to display fleet positions and tactical readouts as holograms above projection pedestals.

Ortiz called up a detailed schematic of the Citadel over one of the darkened pedestals. The entire population in the war room moved in to surround the holographic projection.

"As you've requested, we've pinpointed the location of the mass relay switch. It lies deep in a shaft that intersects with the Presidium Ring at the base of Tayseri Ward here. Beyond this bulkhead lies the inaccessible core of the station. We've concluded there's no way to disable the switch permanently short of destroying it. The area is well armoured because the mechanism that folds the wardarms into a defensive position is located here and here."

He highlighted the relevant areas with a remote.

"There's a high chance bombardment tactics will destroy the hinge mechanism and rip the wards away from the core, destabilising the station and causing further structural damage. I believe your orders were for us to keep damage to the Citadel's superstructure to the minimal, sir."

Hackett studied the schematic with its highlighted areas.

"What are our alternatives?"

"Our tests have shown that nothing short of a dreadnaught's main gun would be able to punch through the bulwarks to destroy the switch. And even so, the weapon needs to be positioned within the shaft or in the Presidium Ring for greatest effect. Unfortunately, there's no single source of power in that part of the Citadel to hook that big an accelerator up."

"Can we detach a dreadnaught's main gun in the first place? Hook it up to a mass effect engine of a ship anchored outside?"

Ortiz fired up his omni-tool and input a set of data. After a short while, he replied, "Including the link-up work and subsequent calibrations, we're looking at a time window of one week at the shortest."

"We can't afford to wait that long," Hackett muttered. "What's the next plan?"

"I'm afraid to say there isn't one." Ortiz said. "We _can_ attempt to breach the walls of the Presidium, create a gap for a dreadnaught to aim at the shaft, but the firepower needed to punch through is likely on the same magnitude and carries the same consequences as carpet bombing the area."

Hackett slapped down a hand hard on the pedestal.

"Surely you didn't bring me back here to tell me what we cannot do, man. Tell me what we can!"

Shocked silence greeted his outburst.

"Anderson's out there holding the line right now," Hackett jabbed a finger in the direction of the viewport. "C-Sec and Partinax's troops are evacuating the civilian population as fast as shuttles can turn over, with the end result not making a damn difference when one out of three transports gets shot out of the sky. We're going to be out of fuel running them there and back in thirty-six hours; there's no guarantee we can even survive another day's worth of fire fight. And after three days, you're telling me the best you can do is _no plan at all_?"

Uncomfortable shuffling and coughs filled the room. Ortiz looked around to his colleagues. When there was clearly no input to be offered, he cleared his throat diffidently.

"Actually, Captain Shepard has a radical proposal in mind."

Hackett's eyes went unerringly to Shepard.

"Trot it out, Shepard."

Shepard came forward, and avoided meeting anyone's eyes in case he raised the subtle animosity he'd been encountering ever since being assigned to the Fifth Fleet. Picking up a remote from a nearby pedestal, he called up the schematic of the _Normandy_.

"I'd like to suggest we use the _Normandy _to make the run. It _is_ small enough to fit in the shaft, as well as equipped with a cannon that has the armour penetrating capabilities of a dreadnaught gun. There's no smaller or better ship with the requisite firepower to make the clear shot."

Rear Admiral Mikhailovich raised his hand. "I have to go on record and say I'm against this. The clearance in the shaft as well as the Presidium ring measures in metres! If that ship breaks apart in there, its nuclear reactor and mass effect core will blow the wards apart the same way as our original scenario."

"The ship is equipped with an onboard artificial intelligence," Shepard interjected. "As well as one of the best pilots humanity has to offer. It's singularly suited to do the job."

"What if this AI of yours decides that self preservation is far more important than the mission?" Mikhailovich shot back. "Its original directives were programmed in by Cerberus, weren't they?"

Shepard quelled his irritation as the arguments that took place over the past three days surfaced again.

"EDI's behavioural blocks have been removed years ago. She and my pilot Jeff Moreau are firmly behind the objective of our fight—to defeat the Reapers. Besides, that ship carried me to the galactic core and back, through the Perseus Veil and beyond without a single incident. Every one of those missions held far less chances of success than the proposed shaft run."

"I still don't like it," Mikhailovich muttered. "AIs are expressively illegal in Citadel Space and for good reason. An independent AI is likely to have a synthetic mindset at odds with our goals."

"With all due respect, Admiral, you can argue that EDI is a potential liability because she's bound by her original programming, or her status as an independent entity endangers the mission, but you can't pick both." Shepard growled.

"Gentlemen..." Hackett interjected.

Shepard opened his hands in a placating gesture.

"What I'm saying is with the _Normandy_ we get one chance to destroy the relay switch without resorting to bombing tactics. Should the run fail, and the wards get blown apart, it'd still expose the switch to conventional weaponry. There's nothing to lose."

"Or everything to lose." Mikhailovich countered. "We're dealing with absolutely unknown and untested factors here. All we have is your say-so. And estimates aren't going to cut it in this case."

"Thank you, both of you. I've heard enough." Hackett held his hand up. Pitching his voice to carry across the room, he announced, "Ortiz, announce all battle-worthy ships are to go on level one alert. We'll be moving into Citadel Space in five hours. "

"All ships, sir?"

"Damaged support craft can stay behind; assist the personnel transports that are still coming in. When the last is accounted for, they can jump out."

Mikhailovich asked in astonishment, "We're going in with everything we've got? Now?"

Hackett let his eyes travelled all over the room, holding everyone with his gaze.

"The Citadel is written off. Our primary objective now is to destroy the mass relay switch at any cost. Even if we have to throw flagships at the Reapers." He directed his attention at Shepard. "You're in charge of prepping the _Normandy_ for the shaft run. Liaise with General Partinax. He'll provide ground support with his troops, including demolition work to widen your flight path if needed."

Turning to Mikhailovich, Hackett continued, "I want you to select a number of ships to run escort and protect the _Normandy_. Work with Shepard on this. Carmichael, get on board the _Kilimanjaro_. Assist Anderson, coordinate with the turian navy to keep the Reapers busy. Stagger our resources and boost that interference signal to its maximum strength. We need to hold them back for up to twelve hours upon arrival.

"Ortiz, I need you on civilian evacuation. Take over coordination of the shuttles. Jettison unnecessary supplies from the freighters, free what you can and use them to expedite the process. Start with Tayseri Ward and make as many round trips as possible to Bekenstein the moment we get there. I'll take command of the _Elbrus_ and move it into contingency position should the shaft run fail."

"Sir, it'd take three hours going to and from Bekenstein." Ortiz muttered after checking some figures on his omni-tool. "Freighters would net us fifty thousand more spots per trip at best, and Tayseri Ward has close to three million in population."

"We're not going to be able to save them all. Most of the Citadel's population will be left behind. There're not enough ships or time to evacuate everyone."

Stunned silence filled the room. It was quickly broken up by Hackett who barked, "You've got your orders, people. Get moving!"

Like being woken up from a dream, the energy level in the war room rose perceptibly as everyone moved to their assigned tasks.

"Garrus, did you get all that?"

Shepard spoke into his comm unit.

"Loud and clear, Shepard. We'll begin preparations right away."

"Good. I'm on my way."

He was in the process of leaving the war room when Hackett placed a hand on his shoulder.

"A question, Captain. Who are you going to assign on board the _Normandy_ to oversee the run?"

He frowned, surprised the question was even broached.

"Myself, sir."

Hackett's eyes narrowed.

"I thought so. I'm expressively forbidding you to."

"Surely you can't expect me to sit on the command deck and order men to die in my place, sir. In this, I _must _to be the one to lead the way." He stopped short, checked by Hackett's studying gaze, and realised what he'd said could be construed as insubordination. He couldn't help but wonder if three years of acting independently had the effect of undoing a decade's worth of habits following orders. _Or perhaps I don't fit in the system anymore._

Taking a deep breath, Shepard lowered his voice.

"May I at least know the reason?"

"I'll be frank; your greatest worth to the Alliance is the credibility and rapport you've built with the allied species. Like it or not, you are the de facto spokesperson for humanity and the galaxy."

"A figurehead, sir?" He couldn't help but bristle. "Is that what you take me for?"

"A weapon, Captain. To be put into use at the right time and place, not before. Same as any soldier in this war." The older man eyed him shrewdly. "I didn't promote you so you could go on playing a grunt, Shepard. Your value now lies in your ability to inspire and command."

Shepard stared at Hackett for a moment before lowering his eyes, unable to refute the truth in that. He tried to wrap his mind around accepting the fact, but found it as hard to swallow as the lump in his throat.

"May I at least choose the person I want to oversee the run on the _Normandy_, sir?"

"Who do you have in mind?"

"Garrus Vakarian. He's a turian and a trusted member of my team—my former team. He was the _Normandy_'s gunnery officer for three years. There's no better person other than myself to command the ship and liaise with General Partinax's forces." Ruthlessly, he forged on to the logical conclusion. "I'd imagine the choice would also earn us solidarity points with our turian allies."

Hackett nodded approval. "Go ahead, Captain. Be sure to inform Mikhailovich about the changes in your plan."

With a hand wave to signify his aides, the commander of the Fifth Fleet left the war room, leaving chaos in his wake.

Shepard made a half-aborted gesture at following before turning back and walking towards the viewport. With a heavy heart, he rested his forehead against the plexiglass surface.

Nobody had raised the issue of how to extricate the _Normandy_ from the shaft even if the run was a success. It wasn't possible. Neither was it likely the crew could be rescued past the point of no return.

Outside the massive window that filled the starboard side of the mid-size room, half of the ships of the Systems Alliance Fifth Fleet floated stationary in interstellar space, far away from any star systems or celestial bodies. Support craft like supply freighters, fuel tankers and their small minders were parked near the centre of the congregation while thirty or so frigate, carrier and cruiser-class warships dotted the perimeter in defensive positions.

Blackened hulls and sheared-off sections were prevalent. Damage control craft worked around some of the more heavily damaged vessels, their frenzied activity belaying the ominous inactivity of darkened hulls. Now and then, orange fire flared brightly from truncated portions, to be quickly snuffed out by the vacuum of space. Personnel shuttles weaved in and out of the chaos, transporting the injured to medical frigates located in the epicentre.

There was a surrealistic feel to the whole spectacle, in the lack of sound and the backdrop of interstellar space where stars congregated into luminous clouds and the nebula itself imbuing an incandescent pink glow to reflective surfaces. That was the problem with space casualties. Survivors were a rare breed. Death arrived, smooth and casual, when mass accelerators overloaded kinetic barriers and bulkheads exploded, puncturing suits and venting bodies into space, their screams stolen as quickly as the air in their lungs.

But was a clean death better than being indoctrinated and turned into husks, or paralysed by seeker swarms, awaiting harvest by Collectors?

Shepard banged a fist against the glass in a futile motion. Finally, he remembered time was of the essence, and opened the comm-channel to the _Normandy_.

"Thought you'd be here by now. Or are you thinking to skive from the scud-work?" came the dry rejoinder.

Shepard's eyes wandered to the edge of the fleet where the _Normandy_, still in its Cerberus colours, was parked with the rest of the frigate-class ships.

"There's been a change of plans," he said heavily. "You have to take command of the _Normandy_ this time, Garrus."

Silence greeted him from the other end.

"Sounds too good to pass up." Garrus finally replied, the insouciance in his voice more obvious than usual. "I've always wanted ship command some day."

"You're going to have to take my place." Shepard swallowed. "I'd originally intended a skeleton crew for this: myself, Joker and EDI."

A forced laugh emerged from the earpiece.

"This is better. Don't want you breathing down my neck anyway."

"Right," he mustered a brief laugh. "I'll just cramp your style."

"Besides, I get to work with the great General Partinax," Garrus quipped. "Chance of a lifetime really."

"Your father's a big fan of his, isn't it?"

"Yeah."

Time stretched until Shepard imagined he could feel the seconds ticking in his head. Finally, Garrus cleared his throat.

"Mind doing me a favour, Shepard? If you get the chance, tell my father I'm sorry he thought me a disappointment. I need him to know I never stopped trying to be a good turian. I'm just... I'm sorry my best wasn't enough."

A brief moment ensued where neither said anything, before a flanged snort filled the transmission space between them.

"Ahh...listen to me. You'll never let me live this one down now."

"Never say never, Garrus," he said fiercely. "Because you haven't done your best. Not just yet."

"Always one last chance with you, huh?" A wistful note entered Garrus's voice. "Think namedropping the good general will score points with my old man?"

"I'm sure it will. I'll remember to do that."

"Thanks, Shepard. Thanks for everything."

A deep breath almost turned into a coughing fit as his throat hitched.

"I-I'm afraid I have to go. Tell EDI and Joker I—"

"Will do. Take care of yourself."

He lifted a hand to cover his tightly-shut eyes.

"Good luck, all three of you."

The channel went dead. With great effort, he tore himself away from the viewport and took over one of the holographic pedestals. Calling up the mission proposal he'd prepared days ago, Shepard focused all his attention on making the necessary amendments to fire it off to all relevant parties.

The next half an hour saw him engaged in a frustrating time-lagged discussion with Partinax to widen the _Normandy_'s flight path. That was how Mikhailovich found him, flushed features giving away the hint that all was not well.

"Putting a turian in charge? What's next?"

Shepard glared at the recalcitrant man. One week getting stonewalled in every manner, his advice ignored until it was made absurdly obvious that there were no other options. He was sick to death of the stupidity and stubbornness of his new colleagues. And it looked like the most vehement of his detractors simply refused to let go.

"Got that filed on record too, Admiral?"

Mikhailovich stopped short, his lips pursed in displeasure.

"You'll find I log all my complaints. I'm not afraid to stand up for what I have to say."

"Good work." Shepard drawled out in false cordiality. "I hope you get the chance to review your complaints when all this is over and tally up the death count your foot-shuffling cost us. Maybe you could pull rank and get the casualty list declared top secret."

He looked on with savage satisfaction as Mikhailovich's face reddened further until the man looked as though he'd developed an aneurysm. When the rear admiral spoke again, it was _sotto voce_, but his eyes more than made up for the mildness of his tone.

"If it were up to me, you'd have stayed court-martialled by the Council. Rot in a prison. See if I care. You were nothing but trouble the moment I met you. Consorting with aliens and terrorists—you betrayed the Alliance, humanity. Did you think you could return to the fold just like that?"

The words hit Shepard like a blow to the gut, so much so he had to place both hands on the projection pedestal to stand steady.

"Count yourself lucky you've got Hackett's ear." The other man continued, oblivious to Shepard's response. "The others are afraid to speak their minds, but make no mistake; _I_ will fight you every inch of the way. And when you reveal yourself to be the traitor you are, I will not hesitate to take you down."

_How could I be so dense?_ Shepard thought dazedly. It'd been so blindingly clear, except he'd been so caught up with the Reaper threat he thought nothing else had mattered.

_I don't belong here. I never did._

The realisation struck so hard he had to resist the urge to tear the rank tabs from his shoulders and walk out of the room. Instead, he settled for clenching his fists, head bowed.

"I'll be watching you very closely, Shepard. I won't allow you to destroy what the Alliance stand for. We didn't get to where we are pandering to alien governments and their whims. Go ahead and install all the alien lackeys you want—"

Fury exploded across Shepard's vision. In the blink of an eye, he had Mikhailovich backed up against the view port trapped in a lethal arm lock. The eezo nodules in his nervous system fired up instinctively, causing dark energy to flare up like flicking blue flames all over his body.

"I sincerely ask you to retract your words, Admiral", he grated out through clenched teeth. "Take pot shots at me by all means, but don't you dare drag my crew in. You have no idea what they've done for humanity when the Council and the Alliance turned a blind eye to everything. As far as I'm concerned, you're a goddamn nonentity. You have no right, nor are you fit to pass judgement on them."

Fear stared out of Mikhailovich's eyes, even though it was obvious he was trying to master it.

"Screw you, Shepard," he hissed. "You were the one who turned a blind eye when humanity needed you most. Where were you when the Reapers made their first move? Playing poster boy for your alien friends?"

Shepard's arm muscles tightened spasmodically, causing the older man to start choking.

"I was working to save our collective asses, you fucking idiot!"

"Ex-Excuse me, Sirs?"

Shepard turned around at the tentative voice and found the remaining people in the room had formed a circle around them. A young female aide stood apart from the rest, extreme trepidation evident in her body language. With a start, he realised biotic energy was radiating in waves around him. Powering down in a tremulous act of control, he shoved Mikhailovich away in disgust.

The rear admiral made a show of straightening his uniform, eyes promising retribution as he strode out of the room in tattered dignity.

"Show's over. Get back to your stations."

Shepard said harshly when bystanders continued to stare at him. The crowd, comprising of aides and non-coms, fled at his displeasure. A forced silence, filled only with the blips of computers, rushed to fill the space.

No senior officers had witnessed the altercation. It wouldn't have mattered anyway. No one emerged winner in the confrontation that just took place. What was clear to Shepard was the Alliance and what it represented could no longer be a part of his life.

He couldn't help his bout of helpless laughter at that realisation, uncaring of what the rest of the room thought, before he returned to the holographic pedestal to resume his interrupted work for the next few hours.

There were no communication buoys in this part of space. Scout ships had to be spaced in a rough line to sent updates from the battle field. The resultant effect was a time-lag of ten seconds or so as information in the form of FTL comm-bursts transmitted down the line.

In the far distance, a sparkle gradually materialised as an inbound scout ship.

"_Albatross-One_ to _Elbrus_." The hail resounded over speakers on the command deck. "Way is clear. I repeat, way is clear. Recommend all ships trim drift to below two thousand kilometres. Space is at a premium on the other side."

"Acknowledged, _Albatross-One_." The chief communications officer replied and then looked around at Admiral Hackett for confirmation. Upon receiving the nod, the officer reopened fleet comm-lines. "_Okinawa_, you're free to commence countdown for FTL jump."

One after another, ships jockeyed into position, bows aimed in the correct direction before blinking out of existence in blue flashes of light. On the observer balcony, Shepard stood, hands clenched tight behind him, as the _Normandy_ with its escort of four smaller frigates departed in a daring synchronised motion.

For every Garrus Vakarian, Jeff Moreau and EDI, there were innumerable Mikhailovichs. It wasn't even possible to ascribe any malice to the man; he truly believed in the validity of his cause. Never had Shepard felt the impulse to walk away so strongly. But a part of him remained that refused to give up. How long it'd last, he hadn't the faintest of ideas.

Nonetheless, finality settled over his mind like a shroud. He'd do what he must, no more, no less. And if anyone disagreed, they could go to hell.

Klaxons began resounding all over the _Elbrus_ in preparation for the imminent jump. At the end of the countdown, the navigator punched in the command, sending the dreadnaught into FTL mode. All the stars in the viewport blue-shifted and stretched, converging to a point on the distant event horizon.


	7. Chapter 2 Part 4

_**2195 CE, New Canton (Present Day)**_

It was strange how, in hindsight, certain decisions felt like the best course of action years after the events have transpired. Back then, it'd felt like he was stumbling in the dark all the way. Or perhaps it was a case of having hit rock-bottom, and finding that every other possible way pointed upwards.

What it felt like now was stumbling sideways, all paths branching featureless in every direction, very much like the horizon that stretched further than the eye could see, here on the edge of the farmlands. With a growl of disgust, Shepard threw down his wrench and sat down tiredly on the ground.

"Take a break, Shan. I'm ready for one."

The younger man looked at him worriedly and then complied.

"Two days," Shepard muttered, "Two days of getting thwarted by this blasted thing. You'd think they come with an operation manual."

Shan handed him a water bottle.

"I think the agricultural office may have that, sir. We could try and ask."

Shepard looked up in irritation.

"What have I told you, Shan? Stop calling me that already."

"Sorry." The younger man responded almost perfunctorily as he walked to his knapsack and rummaged through the interior. Fishing out his omni-tool, he activated it.

Shepard looked on, but soon found his attention distracted. The sun was shining overhead, dispelling much of the spring chill. Even so, the ground was cold, and the damp seeped into bones. He tried to stand up, and found his leg muscles stiff and unresponsive. With a sigh, he began to massage feeling back into them. Shan came back to sit down beside him, scrolling through the holoscreen of his omni-tool.

"The manual says we'd have to remove the combustion pin which prevents the machine from starting up accidentally."

"Where's that and what's it look like?"

Shan called up the holographic projection and pointed to the part in question. With difficulty, Shepard rose and hobbled to the plough-sledge. After a moment of fiddling, he extracted a steel rod and lifted it into view.

"That's it."

He stabbed the rod straight into the frozen ground before hauling himself up into the cabin to fire up the ignition. The vehicle jerked to life with a roar. With a disgusted flick, he switched it off and jumped down.

"Damn it. Why didn't I think of that?"

"You couldn't have known about the pin, sir."

"I didn't mean that. Why didn't I think of getting my hands on a manual?" He ran a hand over his head, still unaccustomed to the feel of hair under his palm. With a snort, he muttered, "Well, at least one of us is good for something."

This was followed by a grimace when he realised how surly that sounded. He glanced at the younger man who seemed to have taken the whole incident in his usual stride. Shepard was almost sure "Shan" was a nickname, given that the marine didn't look like he possessed any shred of Chinese ancestry. Bronze skin with characteristic Latino American facial features seemed to corroborate that. He'd never bothered to find out. Resentment of the other man's presence had summed up his sentiments towards Shan, and almost the first thing he'd done was grabbed the marine by the collar and threatened retribution should he breathed any hint of his real mission to Miranda. It'd come as a faint surprise when Shan had proven impervious to his hostility.

Walking slowly to a fence post, Shepard leaned against it, his eyes trained on the younger man.

"Looks like you have some familiarity with farming equipment."

Shan shrugged non-concomitantly.

"I'd imagine you didn't think you'd ever end up babysitting a prisoner on parole in some backwater system."

The younger man got up as if he hadn't heard a thing and went to retrieve the power jack he left resting against a tree.

"This has to be as frustrating for you as it is for me." Shepard pushed on, intent on getting a response.

Wary eyes returned his glance, motion arrested. Perhaps not so impervious after all.

"Where are you from, Shan?" Shepard asked. "Earth? Another colony?"

For a while, it seemed as if no answer was forthcoming. But finally, the other man spoke up.

"Horizon. I was one of the few that didn't get abducted by the collectors ten years ago."

Shepard blinked before laughing briefly.

"Alliance intelligence must be really behind times if they didn't catch that before assigning you to watch over me."

"I think they assumed my parents dying during the Reaper strikes on Earth would counteract that."

"Does it?"

"No, sir. The rules of civil warfare cannot be applied to an enemy who doesn't take prisoners of war," was the other man's sober reply. "You did what you had to."

"I did what I had to." Shepard mimed, gaze shifting to focus on the horizon. "All for the greater good. Can't make an omelette without breaking eggs. I'm not sure what terrifies me more: hearing the same excuses I had to live by coming from you, or the fact that I'd actually believed them."

"Is that why you've accepted your fate?"

"What do you mean?"

Uncertainty flittered across Shan's face. He looked at the tool in his hands before letting it fall to the ground again.

"You aren't how I imagine you to be. I keep thinking you'd fight _this_." He gestured at nothing in particular, effectively encompassing the planet and the reason why they were on it.

A wry smile crossed Shepard's lips.

"Why should I? The war's over. It's such a relief. My biggest worry every night is wondering what new ways I can find to fuck up playing a farmer the next day."

"But is this really what you want to do with your life, sir?"

"Why is that so damn hard for everyone to believe?" Shepard snapped in irritation. After a moment, he sighed and bent down to pick up his discarded wrench and slipped it back into his tool belt. Gesturing at the line of fence posts at the edge of the field, he said, "Let's get the rest of the posts strung up before we start the ploughing."

They worked in silence for a while; Shan reeling out the wire which he threaded through the post holes before securing them. In that time, the young man's eyes kept darting to him as if he wanted to say something, but feared to do so.

"If you've come to realise I'm your type, I suggest you look elsewhere." Shepard muttered, refusing to bear the silent scrutiny further.

"Why aren't you fighting it?" The younger man's expression took on an agonised quality. "What they're doing to you—it isn't right."

Shepard spared a glance at him as he hammered a knot into the wood. When Shan showed no sign of dropping the issue, he grounded his hammer, pneumatic head on the ground, hands resting on the haft.

"It was never a matter of right or wrong," he finally allowing himself to say. "Five billion dead. Can you grasp that? I couldn't. I had to convert it into statistics. Seven hundred thousand here, twenty million there. Check and mate. It was the only way. I didn't watch a single news report before the end. After that, I went on a binge." Shepard flung the tool away from him. It clattered on the frozen ground with a thud. "Didn't do much good either way."

Shan frowned as though he didn't quite grasp the meaning behind those words.

"But something like this will just drag for years." The younger man finally said. "The rest of the galaxy sees you as a hero. There's no way the Alliance can hide something so big."

"The next person to use the word "hero" is going to get their ass kicked so hard the impact will make the Rift of Klendagon look like shovel work." Shepard growled under his breath.

He glanced up to find Shan looking at him in complete bafflement now. He tried to wave it away with a tired gesture.

"Forget about it. Let's wrap this up. I've had enough for a day."

Piling their tools at the back of the hovertruck, the two men clambered into the front compartment. As Shepard fired up the ignition, he finally allowed himself the luxury to think back on the reason why he chose New Canton as a place of respite. The comfort he kept expecting to feel after a hard day of manual work continued to elude him. It was clear as hell his inability to find his farming legs after a whole month of apprenticeship wasn't the only problem.

There was no denying his deep reluctance about the talk he was going to have with Miranda, no matter that he'd been the one to suggest it. He didn't think he could stand another night of awkward ice breaking before they made their way to the conclusion, or as in the case of last night, failed to arrive at it with spectacular effect. Much as he hated to admit it, her rejection of him bothered deeply.

As the lights of their small homestead enclave filled the windscreen, Shepard banked the hovertruck harder than was needed. He was rewarded by a loud crash echoing from the cargo bay; the sound of heavy tools and machinery toppling over each other.

After dropping the vehicle in the garage with less grace than usual, he took silent stock of the tangled mess before ramming the hatch down hard enough that the sound would filter into the habitat. Shan gave him one worried look before making his way the path that led to his own living module. Slinging on his own knapsack, Shepard walked slowly for the door.

It was only when he was at the front steps that he noticed the windows were pitch dark. Entering the vestibule, he found the living room dimly-lit by the orange glow of the console. Miranda was sitting in front of it as far as he could tell by the back light.

"Is something wrong?" He asked quietly.

His general sensation that something wasn't right grew stronger by the second when she failed to respond. She'd evidently made a trip somewhere judging from her attire, form-fitting dark pants and shirt unbuttoned to reveal an expanse of pale neck.

"Miranda?"

The spell was broken when she finally inclined her head at the console. Shepard walked over, eyes squinting at the glare while he made out the text on the screen. It was an extranet message originating from Oriana.

_So this is sweet sweet Oriana. Should've guessed. Both of you look like two peas in the pod. Family. Can't live with them, can't exist without them. So let's find out which way you want to play it. Come to where it all began if you want to see her again._

He frowned. "You're going to have to fill me in."

She looked at him, expression indecipherable in the eerie lighting. Finally she rose and gestured at the sofa.

"Lights."

Shepard called out as he made his way over, the lighting in the habitat flicking on at his voice command. Miranda hugged her arms as she sat down, and even though she was leaning back, her body posture was an exercise in tightly-held control.

Running a hand through her hair, she began her explanation in a clipped tone.

"I found out today my father had passed away. Months ago during the Reaper strikes on Earth, in fact. I suppose the news didn't make it here because of the spotty communication link. I also found out he's bequeathed all his assets to me, including a number of "projects" of a nature I don't know about. But I have my suspicions, suspicions that point to my origins, maybe even the reason why I was created in the first place."

She glanced at him before plunging on. "I'd planned on filling you in tonight: I've decided I need to make the trip to Earth. To find out the truth once and for all. And I thought of Oriana, and how she may appreciate knowing, so I sent her a message." She made a vague gesture at the console. "_That_ reply came in one hour ago."

Shepard couldn't help his incredulity as he digested the information, but he knew she would never make light of revelations like this. Miranda rose and began pacing the length of the living room.

"My first thought was someone got wind of my father's will and was looking to take advantage. But there's no mention of ransom. I've pinged Ori many times. I haven't gotten a response. I've even tried contacting the authorities on her side, but I just can't get through." She slammed a fist against the wall she was walking past. "Damn it, I _hate_ the extranet connection here. It might as well not exist!"

Guilt stabbed him. _She wouldn't have that problem if she wasn't here with me._ More than ever, he couldn't help the sinking feeling the rift between them was inexorably widening. With difficulty, he swallowed and tried for the right level of concern in his voice.

"Any chance Oriana could be playing a joke on you?"

Miranda shook her head firmly. "I know Ori. She has her humorous tendencies, but she isn't the type to make light of a kidnapping. The thing is I can't begin to grasp the motive. I could go to the Skyllian Verge, try and trace her whereabouts, but the trail will likely be weeks-cold by the time I get there."

Here, she stopped pacing, brow furrowed in thought.

"And I can't shake the feeling that the person or people involved know about me. The phrase "where it all began" wasn't used by accident. It's my clue to go to Australia, back to the place I ran away from so many years ago."

She turned her blue-grey eyes to him, indecision apparent in their depths.

"I've been checking ship itineraries, looking for passage back to Earth," she confessed. "The timing is tight. The next available ship undocks in two days, the one after in a week's time." Her tone became noticeably hesitant here. "I've made passenger bookings on the first ship."

The fact that she said the word "bookings" didn't escape Shepard. Yet he couldn't trust himself to back her request for help, or fully believe that she could mean what she said. It was an ugly thing, this doubt, but tried as he did, he couldn't dispel it. He swallowed, knowing that what he was going to say wasn't what she wanted to hear.

"It's obviously a trap. You're right in that whoever they are they've got a handle on you. Which is why I think you shouldn't play right into their hands."

Miranda's lips thinned with impatience as she resumed pacing.

"I _know_ it's a trap. But this is my sister we're talking about. In a hostage situation, things could take a turn for the worse any moment. I'm not going to wait for that to happen while we hope for a lead."

"I still think we should wait the week out. That message was intentionally written to get a rise out of you. There has to be more." He shook his head. "I'd have thought you'd be the last person to go running off on a gut feeling. This isn't like you at all, Miranda."

She turned to him, brow crinkling in confusion.

"Wait a week? Anything could happen in that time," she followed up with a sound of frustration. "John, I can't afford to rely on unfounded optimism here. Why on earth are you doubting my judgement now?"

"Because you haven't been forthcoming." He rose from the sofa to stand right before her, barely able to restrain his anger. "Did you expect me to believe you got all this news today? That you just found out your father is dead? Why are you choosing now to tell me all this?"

As if in a daze, she looked up at him.

"What are you talking about?"

"You're wondering why the hell you're shackled up with a failed soldier bent on a disastrous career change. If you're sick of the damn fool with no idea what to do with his life and want out, say so. Don't make excuses. I'm not going to hold you back."

Bewilderment was her first reaction, but almost immediately, her eyes narrowed and her tone left no doubt of her own anger.

"I don't know where you're coming from. And I certainly didn't need that from you. Every second we spend arguing, Ori could be in bigger danger. There's nothing to be gained waiting here." She sidestepped away from him, even though her piercing gaze never left his face. "The list of people left for me to care about is a bloody short one. And I won't sit by if someone or something threatens one of them. You're on that list. _You_ are the damn reason why I haven't gone topside to confirm my berth on that ship."

Shepard looked away, unable to bear the weight of honesty and hurt warring in her eyes. He rubbed his stubble-roughened face hard and muttered, "I may have something that'll help. Liara gave me a comm-box that can piggyback on any extranet link. It connects me directly to her. If anyone can get hold of a lead, it'll be her."

"Did you intend that as a surprise?" She retorted acidly. "Or were you hoping never to mention it?"

Jaw clenched, Shepard went to his room, using more strength that was needed as he rummaged through the sparsely filled cupboards. A brief respite was all he was asking for, a chance to play the dumb farmer. Yes, it was an illusion at normalcy. But was that too much to ask for?

_Why aren't you fighting it?_

Shan's question came unbidden into his mind as his hand finally found the comm-box. With a deep breath, he yanked it out.

_Because I must account for what I did. _

He couldn't tell Miranda it was the reason for his reluctance to help. Because then she'd learn about his responsibility for those five billion deaths, and the trial he'd likely face at the end of the year. She didn't need to know any of that. Truth be told, he couldn't help but fear she would leave him once she realised he'd effectively charted himself into a dead-end for the rest of his life.

_Except she'd know eventually. Did you think you could inveigle her into staying here till time ran out? _

He had no answer to that.

When he returned to the living room, Miranda was standing in front of the console, arms tightly crossed over her chest, her attention riveted on the text message. He held the comm-box out to her.

"I haven't had time to figure how this works. You'll have to do it yourself."

She took it wordlessly, refusing to meet his gaze. Without preamble, she powered it up and began running baseline diagnostics on the console. Long minutes passed as she worked until he was certain she was ignoring him. Crossing his arms in irritation, he cleared his throat.

"Liara gave this to me when I took refuge at her base after my ship was ambushed by Reapers in the Faryar System. She came through at a time when no one was around to support me." He almost stopped there and let her stew on the revelation but at the last moment, added quietly, "That's all there was to it."

Her hands paused in mid motion as he said all this, and then resumed typing as if nothing happened.

"I'm going to make dinner." Shepard finally bit out, the muscles of his neck standing out in relief.

"It's almost done," she replied curtly. A final keystroke brought up a transmission screen filled with static. After what seemed like an indeterminate time, the image of Liara finally appeared.

"Shepard—good—see you!" The asari woman exclaimed with a genuine smile. Her eyes darted across the noisy screen, "and you—Miranda."

"Hope things are fine with you, Liara." Shepard stepped forward and schooled his face into a pleasant mask. "Sorry to bother, but we need some help."

An expression of concern marred Liara's brow or so he thought; it was hard to read given how the transmission kept flickering in and out. As quickly as possible, Shepard gave her a rundown of the problem before concluding with, "I'll leave Miranda to give you the details."

Tired of pretending everything was fine for a mutual friend, he turned away towards the kitchen. All appetite had fled long ago, but he needed an excuse to do something. The murmur of conversation drifted across the space, Miranda's alto voice juxtaposed with Liara's static-filled speech.

That low blow was uncalled for, but the indignation he'd felt echoed in the question that arose relentlessly during the darkest moments of the past few years.

_Where are you when I need you?_

Miranda wasn't to blame. No one was. Except he couldn't help his resentment. He'd been ready to damn the galaxy for all its tragic absurdity, to do what he had to because he no longer cared. It would be so easy to break his parole to help save Oriana. Where was that fey-driven bravado when he needed it now?

_And be branded a traitor of the human race? Be honest, you've always cared. It wouldn't bother you so much if you didn't._

His inner voice finally supplied in perfect clarity. With a curse, he slammed a cabinet so hard the whole thing came unhinged. Staring at the door in his hand, Shepard brought himself under control with heroic effort. Nonetheless, he couldn't stop his hands from shaking as he finally set down two dishes on the dining table.

He was halfway through his own meal when Miranda entered the dining niche. Quietly, she took her seat on the other side. He didn't trust himself to look at her as she began her update.

"Liara said it'd take a day or two for her agent to make planet-fall and work on leads," she said formally. "The transmission was extremely garbled. I can't boost it further from down here. I'd like to borrow your comm-box, head to the orbital station for access to the Alliance military network. I can secure a better connection that way."

There was silence as she waited for his response. He shrugged gracelessly.

"Take it."

The sound of a fork being lifted carried faintly across the table. Soon after, he heard her place it firmly back down.

"I'll be heading topside tomorrow morning. Likely I won't be back for a while. I'm going to Earth no matter what Liara's agent turns up," there was a pause before she continued. "It's probably best if we take this time to clear our heads."

He squeezed his eyes shut.

"If only it were that easy, huh."

"I didn't say it would be easy." She replied, indignation rising in her voice. "But I'm sick of this—this tune we're dancing to. We're not doing each other any favours right now."

Nostrils flaring, Shepard finally lifted his head to glare at her.

"You think of all _this_ as doing me a favour? Is it as tiring as saving Oriana _yet_ again? How many times you figure you have to do that?"

Miranda rose in a smooth motion, blood draining from her countenance until her blue irises were the only spots of colour on her face.

"How could you say that? _What the goddamn hell is wrong with you?"_

He got up on his side, hands gripping the table edge with white knuckles, as he snarled.

"You're right about one thing. I'm sick of this shit. So take your charity and shove it where the sun doesn't shine."

"Is that what you think? That I'm here because I _pity_ you?"

Stark anguish radiated off the face of the woman he thought he loved, except now, all he saw was a stranger's facade.

"I kept thinking I had to try. Why do I even bother?" She shook her head slowly. "Should've known I can't do anything for a man who'd rather bask in a failure of his own making."

Pushing her chair aside, Miranda walked with preternatural calm to her room. At the door, she turned to him.

"Wallow in your venomous resentment for all I care. I'm not coming back. There's no point. I have no idea who you are anymore."

She slammed her door shut after that parting shot in perfect re-enactment of the previous night. He spent the rest of the night lying spread-eagle on his bed, listening to the night sounds of the planet. At the crack of dawn, he caught the sound of her door opening, and tried to rise. Only to find his muscles had stiffened in the interim hours. Shepard fell clumsily to the floor, loud enough that she'd have heard it.

"_Miranda!"_

He shouted so there could be no doubt. His answer was the sound of the front door closing.

-~o~-

One day had passed since she'd found herself back on the orbital station again. This time, Miranda opted for a transient side hostel and to undergo decontamination only when it was time to board the freighter that would carry her to the Attican Traverse, and from there, to Earth.

She'd been forced to pull strings, call in favours to gain access to the military extranet computer mainframe. It was the only way she could disable the security protocols to hook Liara's comm-box up to a far more stable connection than the civilian net.

So far, the news she'd gotten did little to fill the gaps in her knowledge base. She couldn't fault Liara's agent. In a day, she'd learned that Oriana had been taken in broad daylight. Neighbours had heard screams and sounds of breakage. But when the authorities arrived, both Oriana and the perpetrator were gone.

She sat alone now in a private cubicle, fingers tapping fitfully on the armrest while the box did its arcane work, piggybacking on a secure channel that hopped across the comm-buoys strung out across the galaxy. Now and then, the speed slowed to a crawl when the transmission had to skip links destroyed by the war. Finally, her patience was rewarded when Liara's face appeared on the relatively static-free screen.

"Miranda, I have a real lead. I gave my agent your information about Oriana losing her Alliance ID. He found out it was used to jump the priority queue on two passenger tickets to Sydney, Earth. The purchase entry had been wiped clean from the records, but the ticketing officer recalled a woman matching her ID make the booking alone a day earlier."

A wave of relief washed over Miranda as she absorbed the news. This was the confirmation she needed. Now she knew her hunch about the whole affair having something to do with her past had been correct.

"Thank you, Liara. This helps immensely."

"It was my pleasure. The ship in question is an express passenger service that makes no transit stops. It should reach Earth in two days' time. I'm not sure if I can turn up anything else."

"I'm glad we've found as much as we had. It'll have to be enough. I'm starting my trip in a few hours."

"The asari hesitated. "Is—Shepard going with you?"

"I don't think so." Miranda replied, and then with more conviction, "No, he isn't."

With clinical dispassion, she observed Liara struggling to contain her growing concern.

"I don't wish to intrude, but you must know Shepard cares a lot about you. You were constantly in his mind when I last met him."

"He mentioned your meeting, yes." She laughed briefly as she kneaded the bridge of her nose. "Look, I'd like to chat, Liara, but it'll have to wait. I have a ship to catch."

Liara bit her lower lip before relenting.

"All right. Take care out there."

As Miranda turned off the console, the afterimage of Liara's worried face seemed to burn into her vision. In a few efficient moves, she unplugged the comm-box and cleared the work table. Making sure she'd left no traces of her activities, she made her way back to the hostel. The boarding call was in four hours, there was scant time left for preparations.

Inevitably, her thoughts drifted to Liara's parting words. That the asari continued to hold a torch for Shepard was no secret, but Liara's habit of wearing her heart on her sleeve meant Miranda could trust what the other woman said. No, the pain she felt over Shepard laid elsewhere.

No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't connect the stranger she'd spent this past month with to the man before. That he had changed did not come as a surprise. The Reaper war had been a time of horror for many, herself included. Being at the vanguard, it was likely he'd gone through worse. When she thought about that, she began to regret her words last night.

She missed the Shepard she'd known with a pang that went down the core of her being. She missed his determination and decisiveness—the way he'd haul someone up, carry them on his back even, no matter that defeat stared him in the face. And she was about to embark on a mission where she could no longer trust herself to make the right call in a personal situation, where his support was more needful than ever.

But neither of them could go back to being who they'd been.

Sitting on the bed in her tiny room, Miranda made an inventory check. She'd procured a number of untraceable credit chits and serviced her pistol. Nobody questioned the right to carry personal firearms out here in the Terminus Systems, but she had the feeling it wasn't going to be enough. Surveying the sparse number of tools at hand filled her with dismay, but the situation couldn't be rectified until she reached Earth where supplies were more abundant.

She'd dressed up for the journey, knee-length boots with sensible flat soles, black tights, a pale shirt topped with a form-fitting leather jacket. After a final check of her pistol, she slipped it into a low-slung holster on her right thigh. She was in the end process of packing everything into a duffle bag when there was a beep signalling permission for entrance.

The metal door slid back to reveal Shepard, cheeks heavily shadowed by two days of beard growth. Her first impulse was to shut the door, but she held back at the pained look in his blue eyes.

Her hand dropping helplessly to her side, Miranda moved back towards the bed, a cue Shepard took to step fully into room.

"What do you want?" She asked as the door closed behind him.

"I shouldn't have said those things about Oriana."

"It doesn't matter," she sat down on the bed, unwilling to revisit their last confrontation. "Forget about it."

He stood there as though the wind had left his sails, uncertain of how to proceed. Eventually, he said, "I assume you're leaving today."

"Yes."

The seconds ticked by, until she realised that yes, she had to make the boarding call.

She looked up at him. "Actually, I have to go soon."

"What can I do? How can I make it right for you?" Shepard blurted out in frustration. "I can't leave New Canton. I just can't. I can't even trust myself to do anything right anymore."

Miranda closed her eyes. Usually, she would be the first to assert there was no point dragging this further. That it was time to cut the loss, move on. But that was her from another lifetime ago. No matter how tired she felt about the whole thing, all it took was one look at the anguish on his face, and she could feel what should be an innate sense of self preservation fleeing the scene. Was it weakness? After a decade struggling to reconcile herself with the changes within her, wrought in part by the man standing in front, she remained silently and deeply terrified.

But regardless, now was not the time. Oriana's need superseded both hers and his. Standing up, she shouldered her duffle.

"I don't know what you should do, John, but I do know this. I can't be your crutch, I'm sorry," she paused before adding, "I have a sister to save and no one else can do it."

The last thing she saw was the sliding door cutting off the stunned look on his face.

-~o~-

He was mortally sick of the voices in his head warring relentlessly. He knew in the depth of his heart that breaking parole now would mean he'd no longer be able to find refuge in most human societies. He would become an exile. But likewise to stay behind was as good as casting himself into purgatory, an indeterminate state that would take years to escape from. Whether he went through due process, or alien governments intervened to absolve him of all culpability, the result would be the same. He'd end up with exactly nothing, and back at the same spot where he'd begun.

No matter which way he turned, there was pain in every direction. Except for one. The direction Miranda had gone off in.

Closing his eyes, he struggled for that inner calm he'd found only a handful of times in his life, the most memorable of which had been at the destruction of the first _Normandy_, when he had begun to black out from the lack of air. It was a valiant effort that didn't quite make it, but it was enough.

With a deep breath, Shepard activated his omni-tool to call Shan on the line.

"I'm going after her. You have two choices: let me go, or come along and find a way to salvage your career after you fail to stop me breaking parole."

"_What in hell, sir?"_

"Make your decision now."

"_The Alliance will blacklist you if you break your parole going off-planet without notification! You'll never get a fair trial after this." _

He spent a moment apologising to Hackett internally for getting him into trouble.

"They'll have to catch me first to charge me."

"_Shit... I'll come along. Wait for me."_

"Double-time it. I'll go wrangle up berths for us. I'll need you to drop by my habitat and pick my knapsack up. My belongings are packed."

"_You've had it planned all along! Are you sure you don't want to reconsider, sir?" _

He laughed, and in that brief moment of mirth, felt the gigantic weight that had been plaguing him lifted away like a feather.

"No, I just made up my mind. I'm done doing what I must. Time I get to do what I want. And if I have to go down in history as a traitor to humanity, that's the risk I'll take."


	8. Chapter 3 Part 1

**A/N: **Once again, kudos to Ieldra for helping me get this particular chapter out in record time (relatively speaking). My thanks goes out to fongiel as well for his story suggestions, and Aeowyn for giving the whole thing a look-through.

* * *

**Chapter 3**

_**2195 CE, Elysium (Present Day)**_

She woke up with a jerk, the memory of a half-forgotten nightmare conspiring to pull her down again. Panicking, she tried to fight it, all four limbs splayed out haphazardly, the sensation of gritty earth beneath her fingers finally giving a solid enough grasp of reality to hold her in place.

_Wait a minute..._

Oriana opened her eyes, and found herself in a dimly-lit enclosure with corrugated sheets of metal for walls and an impossibly high ceiling criss-crossed by support beams. It looked like an old warehouse of sorts, with a portion cordoned off into a room. She stood up, and had to fight against the momentary vertigo and nausea.

Dismissing the discomfort, she began walking the perimeter of the room, thinking furiously at the same time. The state of the warehouse and the lack of telltale ambient noise said she was likely still on Elysium. But who would want to capture her? She thought she was free from her father's pursuit. It's been five years since the last attempt, an attempt she'd never told Miranda about.

The last thing she remembered was signing off her chat with Miranda. Outside, storm clouds were gathering with a speed that wasn't unusual with Elysium's climate. She'd decided she was going to fix that shutter after all because knowing her older sister she'd just get nagged at until the task was accomplished.

That was when the attack came, a blur of movement as someone tackled her. The masked assailant had been expecting a soft target, but Oriana had taken a number of self-defence classes. Courses mandatory for work in Terminus Systems notwithstanding, she'd been prepared for the eventuality of failing to stay one step ahead of her father's henchmen. A fair fight against a skilled attacker may be out of the question, but people tend to underestimate her genetically-augmented strength and reflexes, which made for a good element of surprise.

Not this time. A haphazard blow against her aggressor's midriff was rewarded by a female-sounding grunt. The next minute of close-quarter struggling or so saw her unable to gain an edge as her assailant met her blow for blow. And then came that awful smelling cloth pressed into her face...

She took a deep breath, fighting the urge to throw up, and noted down the features of her prison. There was only one exit, a sturdy metal door, unless climbing over the wall was an option. It seemed that her incarceration here was meant to be temporary; there was no bed, nor sanitary accommodations—unless all this was intentional. She shuddered and pushed that thought away.

Not tying her up? Big mistake. She'd failed to get the upper hand the first time round, but all bets were off now.

Oriana saw with satisfaction as a closed fist gesture summoned dark energy washing faintly over her body. That she was a biotic was a well-hidden secret, something even her older sister didn't know about. When she manifested the ability at a young age, her parents had panicked. Discrimination against biotics in human communities was a real danger, and the result was almost every biotic-capable child end up interned at the Jon Grissom Academy, orbiting high above Elysium as a matter of fact.

Living on an asari world where biotics were a dime a dozen, it was far easier to keep her ability under wraps. As a child, Oriana had hated it; attending schools where she was the odd human out, taking lessons from a disgruntled asari tutor hired to teach her not to use her biotics, but rather to hide them.

If it was a gift, why should she be ashamed to show off? At the back of her mind, she had sworn that one day she'd get her bio-amp implanted and undertake proper training. That childhood ambition had long since faded when she'd found new things that interested her and terraforming became her true calling.

But through painstaking trial and error, she'd managed to master a fine control of her ability, something fully-trained and surgically-augmented biotics rarely concerned themselves with because their powers worked on several levels of magnitude above hers. This was her ace in the hole. Great things can be accomplished by a subtle application of force at the right place and time; it was all about strategy and precision.

_So... what's the easiest way out? _

She walked to the door, and peered through the gap where the lock would be on the other side. It was a simple metal latch, and she could see the bar clearly. Narrowing her eyes, she concentrated on altering the mass of the metal until it was light enough for her to apply a lifting effect. Slowly, she rotated the piece counter-clockwise before pushing the whole set up back onto its resting position.

Knees quivering with relief, Oriana pushed the door open and got her first glimpse of a giant warehouse devoid of any else. Unfortunately, she'd used more strength than was necessary and felt, too late, the door shuddering, its heavy inertia wrenching it out of her grasp. It emitted a loud groan that reverberated through the empty space before getting jammed on the uneven floor.

_Oh shit!_

In a distance, there was a clatter, like the sound of something being dropped, and then the pounding of running footsteps. She turned around, her eyes widening in shock at the sight of the person barrelling towards her. It was the only reaction she could muster before she was slammed to the ground and her consciousness fled away once more.

-~o~-

_**2195, MSV Daedalus (Present Time)**_

Miranda was seated in the mess, nursing a mug of the swill known as synthetic coffee. The place was tiny by ship standards, and none too clean, but far roomier than the coffin-like berth she'd been assigned. They were one day out, making good progress across interstellar space towards the Voyager Cluster Relay. The freighter was now cruising comfortably on in FTL mode with the semblance of normal shipboard life gradually falling into place.

And as she was beginning to find out, half a day more to reach the relay with nothing to distract her gave her thoughts ample opportunity to run amok...

_The chrono had counted down past the time for the freighter to begin its journey. In the holding area just past the airlock, Miranda paced the small space, wondering what was the cause for the delay. She looked up from checking her omni-tool as the first mate of the ship, a batarian, walked pass._

"_Why haven't we undocked yet?"_

"_Captain says wait," came the curt reply. "Last minute arrangements."_

_That covered just about everything and nothing. Before she could demand more information, the first mate slipped through the airlock as though on urgent business. With a huff of impatience, she sat down on one of the inbuilt seats equipped with safety harnesses that lined two adjacent walls. _

_After a long while, there came sounds of commotion from beyond the airlock, and the faint whirring of the boarding ramp finally being retracted._

_Rattling echoing off the metal gantry was her only warning before Shepard and his co-farmer, a man known to her as Shan, stumbled into the holding area. Burdened by knapsacks, both men had boots slung around their necks and sported hastily-donned pants with belt buckles undone. Shan wore an inverted t-shirt while Shepard was unabashedly bare-chested._

"_I never want to do that again." Shan gasped as he unwound boot laces from around his neck. _

"_Forgot all about decontamination," Shepard grimaced, equally breathless. "I think my balls got seared off back there."_

_He stopped short when he realised who the other person in the holding area was. Beside him, Shan subsided promptly and slid unobtrusively onto a seat at the far end to busy himself with his attire. _

_On her part, all Miranda could do was stare. _

_The spell was broken when the first mate walked in and barked, "Strap in! We're running late as it is."_

_Walking to a control panel, he punched a button, green-lighting the liftoff. Immediately, the freighter roared to life. With scant seconds to spare, Shepard scrambled onto a seat opposite of hers. Almost self-consciously, he retrieved the pullover draped across his shoulder to put it on before pulling the harness around himself. _

_G-forces started piling up as the freighter cleared the vicinity of the space station and began making the velocity burn that would carry the vessel to the outer reaches of the system and into FTL mode to the nearest mass relay._

_They stared at each other over the roar of the engines and across the space that separated them. Conversation of any sort would have to wait until the freighter cleared the system, but there was more than ample time to mull over this latest change in development. _

_The initial shock she'd felt at seeing Shepard had been replaced by a qualified wariness, even tired exasperation. Why the hell was he here now? The suspicion of delayed histrionics came unbidden, perhaps unjustly, to her mind, but quiet consternation was written all over Shepard's face. There was even a clarity to his eyes that wasn't there before, a sobriety of intent in the way he directed his gaze at her. _

_Dare she trust this move for what it was? That it fundamentally proved his willingness to assist her save Oriana? Or was there something else more twisted? If this was Shepard she knew from before the war, she'd have dismissed the notion. She had no idea what to think now. And if this was going to be another stunt, she couldn't begin to imagine what she'd do._

_After thirty minutes of hard burn, the g-forces finally ebbed away. In what seemed like a trademark attitude, the first-mate entered the holding area again and gestured for them to follow him. Entering the tight confines of the ship proper, he pointed out the berths and gave laconic directions to the mess and sanitary facilities. Then without waiting for acknowledgement, returned to the foredeck again. _

_A quick glance confirmed that the allocated space was pathetic. Each room comprised of two bunks lined on top of one another with scant standing room to spare. Miranda was in the process of stepping into her assigned bunk when Shepard cautiously snagged her sleeve. _

_She gazed at his hand like it was a foreign object, and then transferred that look onto him._

"_Let go."_

_He released his hold immediately. Taking a deep breath, he said, ""Can we talk? I have an accounting I think you'd want to hear. Please?"_

_She looked down the corridor. It seemed like they were the only passengers this trip. Which meant several days of close-quarter interaction, unless she stayed holed up in her bunk for the duration and ignored Shepard. _

If he is really here to help, pretending he doesn't exist won't do Ori any good at all.

"_Fine. But this doesn't change anything." _

_It was the only courtesy she could muster for him right now._

_For answer, he opened his hands in a conciliatory fashion._

_Reluctantly, she led the way into the tiny cubicle. Shepard shut the door as she deposited her duffle and settled down on the lower bunk. After a brief inspection, he sat down quietly on the floor. _

"_You have ten minutes."_

_He gave a nod of acknowledgement, and kept his head bowed for a moment before speaking. _

"_I'm here to help with Oriana. No strings attached. You were right. I can't expect you to be my crutch. So I won't." He took a deep breath. "I'd also like to give an accounting for my conduct." _

_Here, he looked up at her, as if waiting for permission. She didn't trust herself to look him in the eye, so she settled for a grudging nod. His tone when he began was a near monotone._

"_I didn't resign my commission. I was unofficially stripped of my rank pending a trial to assign blame for what happened during the Reaper war._ I _was the one who gave the order that resulted in the five billion deaths on Earth. All this time on New Canton, I was on parole."_

_He balled up one fist to grip it tight with the other as he continued._

"_I didn't tell you any of this because I was afraid you'd leave when you found out. I know it's stupid to think I could hide it from you. But I got all caught up over what I should be doing—if I should stay and await the trial, or break parole and risk becoming a fugitive." _

_As he said all this, Miranda had found herself gradually undergoing a battery of emotions: dismay at hearing about the charges against him, indignation that he hid something so momentous from her, and overlaying all that, that initial wariness that compelled her to wonder if she could trust what he was saying. _

_Indignation won out. _

"_So that's the catch? That you broke parole to help me?"_

_Shepard looked at her, jaw agape before he closed it. Raising his hands, he rubbed his face. Immediately, she wished she didn't know him well enough to read that gesture as his way of maintaining control. _

"_There's no catch. I'm sorry it took so long to get my head out of my ass. I just want to say that for all it's worth, I've made up my mind."_

_The pieces that had been bothering her finally went click as he said this. She made no pretence at understanding how much those five billion lives weighed for him. And if that wasn't enough, to be condemned by the very organisation that'd defined much of his life—it was unimaginable. And that just served to further fuel her outrage. It wasn't that he said those things about Oriana. Or that he was, for all intents and purposes, hell-bent on a cycle of self-destruction. The cosmic joke here was none of that needed to take place at all if he even thought to share those burdens._

"_The same way you made up your mind that I'd leave if I found out about your secret?" She retorted, cold as ice covering a pond in deep winter._

_He'd stared at her in dismay, but didn't make any attempt to defend himself this time._

"_Why did you have to cover all that up? All those things you said—did you think your trust so misplaced that you had to go to those_ ridiculous _lengths to hide your secret?" She couldn't help the rising inflection of her voice. "_Why didn't you just tell me_?"_

_Shepard swallowed and then lowered his head in an unspoken admission of guilt. Too tired to pursue her advantage, Miranda turned away, refusing to bear further the sight of him. Shortly after, he spoke up again, his low voice drifting into earshot._

"_Someone once told me there's no point apologising if I keep making the same mistakes. So I'm done apologising. I'm not expecting your forgiveness. Maybe you don't think I deserve it, and that's fine. I'm here to lend a hand with Oriana and I'm doing it because I want to." A brief silence followed a deep intake of breath. "Do I at least get that chance?"_

How on earth did we end up here?

_But no matter how Miranda struggled against it, that deep sense of tragic incredulity wasn't able to replace her anger or her abject disappointment. In the end, one thought overruled everything else: she won't look a gift horse in the mouth. Not when she had no idea of the kind of opposition she'd face in the upcoming mission. _

_She took a deep breath and looked him in the eye._

"_You have it."_

_Carefully, Shepard nodded his thanks. _

"_That's all I ask for."_

The knowledge that he would be along for the ride had slowly settled in during the last twenty-four hours. There was no denying the relief that she finally got the backup she wanted, despite her trepidation about working with him again. Her last covert mission had been seven years ago, and it was likely Shepard hadn't seen much personal action in that time either. Re-acclimatising themselves to the work, finding that sense of partnership again wouldn't be easy. Not to mention the enormous chasm that'd crumbled the ground between them.

No, everything else had to wait until Oriana was safe. And if she was willing to admit, she wasn't ready to plunge into that emotional whirlpool. Not just yet. Maybe not ever.

A polite cough interrupted her spiralling thoughts. Shepard entered the mess and made his way to the coffee machine. Wrinkling his nose at the mug he'd picked up, he filled it and took a long drink. Miranda eyed him with reservation as he walked over to sit at her table.

"Do you have any new intel to share? I'd like to get a feel of what you have in mind and how we can plan our next move. I also imagine we're going to need to shop for things like personal armour, weapons and specialised equipment."

"We can do that now," she said, relieved that he was keeping it professional.

"Mind if I bring Shan in on this?"

Here she frowned and voiced the question she'd been dying to ask.

"Who exactly _is_ Shan? And why is he here with you?"

"Guess I forgot to mention," he muttered into his mug before lifting his head. "Shan's a marine the Alliance assigned to watch over me. I gave him the choice of coming along so he could find a way to salvage his career after I left New Canton."

She could only give him a look that said he was out of his mind.

He chuckled. It was the first sign of spontaneity from him in what felt like ages.

"I like Shan. He's a nice fellow, easy to read. I can count on him to mean it when he says he'll watch my back."

Shepard always had that knack of knowing what made people tick. It was how he'd kept a ragtag bunch of misfits pointing their guns in the right direction in the years before the Reaper war. So she acquiesced with a cautious shrug.

A few minutes went by as he went off to locate Shan. The younger man, when he finally appeared, was visibly hesitant.

"Ma'am," he tipped his head at her respectfully then took awkward seating on the opposite side of the table.

Miranda studied him, a kind of attention Shan was obviously not comfortable with. Despite her willingness to go along with Shepard's judgement, she couldn't get rid of feeling that she had to play it safe.

"John tells me you're his parole officer. I need his help to get to my sister. Is that going to be a problem?"

"No, ma'am."

She waited until it was evident no more information was forthcoming.

"What's to stop you from reporting to your superiors when you have the chance?"

Shan shifted in his seat.

"I don't think I would, ma'am," he said earnestly. As if sensing her frustration at his reticence, he darted a look at Shepard who was sitting beside him before adding enigmatically, "I'm still hoping I can have my cake and eat it."

She threw Shepard a questioning frown which he returned with an expression that said _I'll explain_ _later_.

"How about we start off with information we have so far?" Shepard queried. "You said Liara gave you new intel?"

Miranda played along, but not before giving him a significant look.

"She said someone matching Oriana's ID booked two express tickets to Sydney. It'll take them two days or so to reach Earth."

Shepard's eyes grew intent.

"Do you know if she was alone when she made the booking?"

"Liara's agent said she was." Miranda frowned as she clasped her hands together. "I'm thinking Ori could've been coerced. As a registered terraformer, she gets priority booking on passenger berths."

"That seems most likely. I can't imagine anyone would go to lengths to impersonate Oriana just to jump a queue."

She shook her head at the improbability.

"I'm more concerned with the fact that they're days ahead of us," she muttered, looking down at her hands. "It'll take at least two more days for us to reach the Attican Traverse. We can't begin to find berths on a new ship until we dock. By the time we reach Earth, anything could've happened."

"You mentioned Sydney is their destination?" Shepard cleared his throat, apparently finding something very interesting in his mug. "I remember you saying you had to go back to Australia."

She glanced up at the mention of the memorable night they quarrelled and bit her lip.

"Yes. But the final destination won't be Sydney. I was born in Tasmania. That's where my father's ancestral home is. And that's where we have to go if I believe what that note says about _where it all began_."

Shepard raised his head to look at her.

"Do you believe it?"

She returned his gaze with a lift of her chin.

"I know what you're thinking. It all ties up too neatly."

"No, I think you're right," he said quietly, his voice almost too low to be heard. "It's a lure you're meant to take. The trap will only spring when we get there. Not before."

It was Miranda's turn to look away. The implication behind his words was obvious: he wanted to retract the ill-advised statements he'd made before. But right now, she could only wonder at their apparent inability to walk the professional path without stumbling over personal pebbles every few steps.

Shan, who has been watching the whole exchange between them, wore a look of confusion on his face, coupled with a fidgety stance that said he could sense the undercurrent going on and would rather be elsewhere.

Taking the momentary silence for an opening, he finally coughed and addressed her tentatively, "You say we're going back to your hometown, ma'am? Is there a connection we can use? Relatives of yours who could help maybe?"

Shepard's head came up almost as fast as hers did. Even as his look questioned her, Miranda's mind went into overdrive. No, she couldn't possibly contact the law firm en route to Earth. Even if she could, there was no way to provide credentials to prove her identity.

"We should make the trip to the lawyer's office first." Shepard said quietly but firmly.

He didn't take his eyes off her after and it took her a moment to realise he was waiting for her final decision. It was an inevitable conclusion. But also a frustrating one in the further delay it posed. Nonetheless, any advantage they could get over the unknown assailants was far more valuable than rushing in blind.

"We'll do that," she conceded.

Shepard exhaled softly.

"I guess weapons and supplies will have to wait till we get to Earth; far wider selection, and less checkpoints to get pass." A deep grimace contorted his face. "I'm also going to have to do something about getting a doctored ID. Wouldn't do us any good if we leave a blazing trail for Alliance law enforcers to follow."

Inwardly, she couldn't help but groan at the possibility of another delay but almost immediately, the glimmering of an idea took hold. A simple check would reveal to the Alliance that Shepard and Shan left New Canton and were bound for the Attican Traverse on board the _MSV Daedalus_. There was no way to tamper with that record without setting off warning flags. But past that point—no, she decided, they needn't wait that long.

"Pass me your IDs. I'll try and corrupt the chips so they register an error. There are many reasons for a faulty or even missing ID nowadays. We could probably pull it off until we reach Earth and get properly doctored ones."

It was a guess, but an educated guess based on her observations and the memory of Oriana complaining about queues at the colonial office. The thought of Oriana now fuelled her awareness of time slipping by more than ever. With an effort, she pushed that concern away to concentrate on making sure they'd managed to cover all existing contingencies.

Across the table, Shepard's eyes took on that distant cast that said he was doing the same.

"I think that should cover everything for now," he murmured just as she arrived at the same conclusion.

She couldn't help her wry smile which he caught and returned with a wary look of his own. Suppressing a faint sigh, she concluded the briefing by stating, "I'll finish up by drafting a shopping list of things we'll need."

Likely they'd have to alter their plans once they got to the ground. That was, however, the norm for any blind mission. They dispersed to their various errands and Miranda returned to her berth. She was sitting on the lower bunk typing out the equipment list on a portable console when a knock sounded on the door and Shepard's muffled voice said, "I have the IDs you want."

"Come in."

He entered to hand her the IDs before saying, "I'm guessing you'll want an explanation about Shan."

"Yes." She gestured at the clear space on her bunk. "What was that all about?"

Shepard's brow furrowed in thought as he sat down at the edge of it.

"I can't be sure yet. But he's sympathetic to my plight. And he grew up on Horizon. He knows what we did back then."

She frowned in disbelief.

"And the Alliance still assigned him to watch over you?"

"He was the one who distracted the shadow surveillance so I could get on the station to talk to you," he said quietly, looking at her. "I feel I owe it to him to try and help him escape the charge for abetting my escape. Besides, we could use another hand in this."

Retrieving her own ID to run her omni-tool over it, Miranda replied just as quietly, "I'll take your word for it."

Shepard brightened up momentarily and then frowned.

"Why are you tampering with yours?"

"The Alliance will try and trace your whereabouts by tracking mine. I'll have to sabotage all our IDs."

Belated realisation dawned on his face.

"This implicates you. Why didn't that occur to me?"

He ran both hands through his short-cropped hair and began shaking his head in self-remonstration.

The impression of Shepard she'd known from before had come so strongly to mind when he was talking about Shan it almost took her breath away. And now, they were back at this again. Suddenly, Miranda was tired of the undercurrent of guilt that kept rearing its head whenever she thought they were making progress towards tentative understanding.

"You said you were done apologising," she said accusatorily.

There remained a certain satisfaction in watching him gape, but she didn't dwell on it. Instead, she held her ID up in view.

"This is something I'd have to do even if you'd agreed to help straight away and I had known about those charges."

For a long time, he remained silent.

"I didn't think you'd want my help once you found out the truth," he admitted softly.

_Is it going to be like this from now on? Three steps forward, two steps back?_

"Look, I'm finished with finger-pointing. If you're looking for fuel for your guilt trip, I suggest you look elsewhere," she said with heavy finality. "We can tread glass around each other, or we can wipe the slate clean and learn how to work together again. You're no good to me otherwise."

For the briefest instance, she saw a spark of anger he locked eyes with hers. It was eventually replaced by a look of wry contemplation.

He nodded once in confirmation and rose to his feet.

"You're right. I _am_ done apologising," he reached the door and turned to her, the faintest of smiles ghosting across his lips. "Thanks for the reminder."

_**2195 CE, Tasmania, Earth (Present Day)**_

Oriana decided she'd seen enough of industrial complexes to last her a lifetime.

Thankfully, the trip to this particular one didn't involve her getting carried in comatose. But after her failed escape the last time, it seemed her perpetrator had decided to take no chances. She was brought blindfolded into the complex. Unless they were taking extra pains to fool her senses, she remembered a series of bewildering turnings and flights of stairs, the ground changing constantly underfoot from concrete to metal and back, suggesting that even if she found herself free of her bonds, it'd be far harder to look for the exit. The prevalence of orders quietly issued and muffled footsteps also destroyed her impression that this was something concocted without prior planning.

She was now incarcerated in a small room, evidently created by cordoned off a larger area again. This time, however, smooth solid walls, a ceiling overhead and an electronic door that would resist her paltry biotics was going to be far harder to break out of. A metal-framed bed at the corner of the concrete-lined space and a dirty but functional washbasin also brought home the awful feeling that she might be here for a while.

Oriana rubbed her wrists in an attempt to get rid of the phantom chaff of bindings that'd encircled them. At least within the confines of this room, she was allowed the luxury of moving about freely. Without a warning, the electronic door blinked green and the partition slid open. She looked up warily as her assailant walked in with a tray of food and placed it unceremoniously on a bolted table in the middle of the room.

"Wait." Oriana called out as the other woman prepared to leave.

"What is it?"

Oriana tried for an insouciant shrug.

"I just want to talk. Staring at four walls gets boring after a while."

It'd been a nightmarish few days, an impression ironically mitigated by the surrealistic tone that'd coloured the entire experience. The initial shock that she'd felt had gradually abated until it was now replaced by a deep sense of intrigue. Given what Miranda had told her about her origins, something like this shouldn't have blindsided her the way it did. In fact, if anything, Oriana could only curse herself for how her insatiable curiosity seemed to have pushed even the regard for her own safety into the background. From the time they'd boarded that passenger ship to arriving in Sydney, she could have tried to make known the fact that she was, in fact, being kidnapped. But all she could think of was trying to tease out the identity of her abductor and the reason why this whole set up was necessary.

But for all her ability to charm her parents into getting her almost anything she wanted, or exasperate Miranda to the point of helpless distraction, the woman in front of her had been absolutely impervious. Which just served to fuel Oriana's efforts to ferret out her back story.

"How about a name for starters?"

Cold eyes returned her scrutiny.

"I've been a willing accomplice all this time. Don't you think you should throw me a bone?"

A snort answered her attempt at flippancy, but then her captor moved to lean against a wall in a posture that said she was willing to play this out.

"It's Cordelia."

_Now we're getting somewhere. Too bad it took this long._

"Well, it's nice to finally put a name to your face, Cordelia. I'm Oriana, but I'm guessing you already know that."

She couldn't help but shiver at the patently false smile that enveloped the other woman's face.

"I must say your attempt at subtlety is coming across as paltry as your biotic abilities," Cordelia murmured in an academic tone.

_Ouch. Looks like she takes no prisoners._

Was that an attempt to push her buttons? If it so, it was a pretty good try. With difficulty, Oriana clamped down her quick temper.

"What can I say? There were more important things in my life than developing super powers."

"Perhaps if you had, you wouldn't be in this predicament in the first place. Convenient for me, I guess."

Oriana couldn't contain her ire this time.

"Why the hell are you doing this?"

"Good question. But you've already gotten your bone for cooperating. What can you offer for me to answer this one?"

_Temper, temper._

Almost immediately, Oriana regretted her outburst. From the previous stonewalling, Cordelia was becoming downright talkative. And Oriana was getting the sinking feeling that she'd underestimated her opponent all this time. The idea that this was a simple abduction scenario went out of the window quite a while ago, but she hadn't given serious thought to the additional layers. And now, Oriana didn't think she dare risk giving this woman more information until she knew what was at stake.

"A chance to indulge me?" She tried for just the right level of engagement. It was a gamble, but she had nothing else to offer. "It's not like I'm going anywhere, right?"

Eyes that could barely contain their disdain glanced at her and then flicked away. But Cordelia showed no sign of taking her leave.

"This is probably the most eventful thing to have happened to me in a while." Oriana continued her wheedling. "Barring the war of course. That must've put a cramp on your plans."

"You are quite persistent, aren't you?" The other woman gave forth that thinly-veiled smile again. "Fine. I'll bite. Ever heard of Cerberus? Or would that lie beyond the event horizon of your uneventful life?"

A cold sensation radiated from Oriana's stomach as the word Cerberus was mentioned. It could only mean one thing; Miranda was somehow tied to all this. Carefully, she sieved her tone of all emotions.

"You mean the human supremacy group that got exposed just before the war?"

Before she knew it, Oriana found herself shoved onto the bed with Cordelia's enraged face just inches away from hers. Brilliant blue biotic energy radiated off the other woman so thickly until the glow coloured both their faces in an unearthly hue. A pair of hands snaked out to grip her neck and began to squeeze.

"Don't you use that phrase in front of me. Even the term terrorist is too good for them. For ten years they used me, fucked me like a bitch in heat and then discarded me. My greatest regret is how I couldn't put the Illusive Man down for the rabid dog he is. Couldn't even get to his body to shove my fist up his ass and form a singularity so I could watch his body parts disintegrate."

Oriana gasped for air and tried to claw the hands away from her throat. Except her fingers found no traction against strung tendons and she began to black out even as she could feel her windpipe beginning to cave in. But just as sudden as it came, the pressure eased.

Through blurring eyes, she saw someone haul Cordelia away by the shoulders.

"She's no good to us dead."

The newcomer was a man with strong Chinese ancestry stamped on his features. He must have entered during the scuffle for the door to the room blinked into lock mode as he spoke.

Cordelia glared at him before raking hair away from her face.

"What is it, Kai Leng?"

"Found an interest article on the extranet. Likely Shepard's with her."

"You'll get what you want then."

On her part, Oriana could only curl up on the bed, coughing as pain wracked her throat with every breath. Her existence was ignored by the other two parties. Which was just as well. Stifling her reaction the best she could, she listened in on their conversation carefully.

"That still hinges on your ability to lure the bitch here for this." The man known as Kai Leng jabbed a thumb in Oriana's direction.

"I wrote a message on this one's console before leaving Elysium." Cordelia's voice drifted across, cool and composed again. "Don't worry. I've done my homework. She will come."

"I'll go prep a reception for them then."

"Save some of your mercs for later. This place is a slug heap. The goldmine is in the tower. But I'll need them to open the way for me."

Shortly after, there came the sound of the door opening and then closing smoothly on its tracks. Oriana laid on the bed until the fit eventually passed and she could make her way slowly to the washbasin to swallow handfuls of water.

She couldn't wrap her head around Cordelia's obsessive anger against Cerberus. Neither could she dismiss the cold eyes of the man known as Kai Leng when he raked his gaze over her like she was just another object. But all of that failed to supersede the dawning realisation that she was being used as bait to lure both Miranda and Shepard into _this_.

For the first time in a very long time, she was afraid.


	9. Chapter 3 Part 2

_**2195 CE, New Calcutta, Earth (Present Day)**_

Late September in New Calcutta should never be this cold, Shepard thought as he stared out of the window at the spectacle on the street level below. The rubber seals around the window panes had long since eroded away, leaving gaps where the cold seeped in like sharp little daggers jabbing into his finger tips. He retrieved his hand to tuck it under his arm. The heating unit was set to high, but failed to make a noticeable difference to the room temperature. The dented aluminium walls seem to suck all heat with sentient intensity.

"Street level" was also technically a misnomer since New Calcutta was a haphazard, multi-tiered metropolis. The widespread trend of building densely-packed skyscrapers in the twentieth century had been followed by two centuries of sporadic maintenance and unsanctioned expansion. Sky bridges originally built to link mile-high towers had proliferated and interconnected over time until in many areas of the city, they'd meshed together to form massive platforms tens of metres thick and several square kilometres across, creating entire new street levels altogether.

It'd been a day since they'd landed on Earth and he'd led them under the cover of darkness into the outskirts of the city. That caution had been well placed. They were now holed up in a dingy motel ensconced within the top few levels of a run-down twenty-first century skyscraper used partly as support strut for an artificial street tier extending over the edge of the Hooghly Slums. The muted holovid projector in the room had been playing a newsfeed showing protests and rioting in many cities on Earth for what seemed like hours. A glance out of the window revealed passersby moving about lethargically in the cold, dressed inadequately for the light grey snow falling overhead. The smell of abject misery in the air was palpable even from this distance.

The last three days had involved one hurdle after another. Just before the _MSV Daedalus_ reached the Attican Traverse, Miranda decided to settle for sabotaging just Shan's and his IDs on the reasoning that three faulty IDs would've looked too suspicious. That'd forced Shepard to put his ability to talk them through customs check into gruelling use. On Liara's advice, they'd found berths on a smuggler ship that carried passengers with a no-questions-asked policy past the legal net by the expediency of dropping them at an unmarked location outside New Calcutta.

Unfortunately, the ship's port-of-call was a system ten light years away which had required a day's travel on a short-range hauler to reach. They'd also had to find another way to get to Sydney. Miranda had fumed over what she'd considered unnecessary delays, but grudgingly came round to the reasoning that the more hops they made, the easier it was to shake the Alliance off their track. For all intents and purposes, Shepard and Shan would've disappeared en route the _MSV Daedalus_ while she'd have reached the Attican Traverse and remained there.

Shepard scratched his bristly chin, grateful for his foresight in not shaving. In the last week, he'd almost grown enough of something resembling a beard. They'd managed to bypass customs check on Earth where security would've been at its toughest, but he harboured no illusions their luck would hold out.

The door opened. Shan entered the room they shared, hands laden with bags, one of which he tossed over to Shepard who caught it neatly.

"You wouldn't believe how much that cost." Shan gave him a look of incredulity. Shepard glanced at the price tag and grimaced.

"Same with food?" He gestured at the bag of takeout in the younger man's hand.

"Everything. And I had to keep one hand free for my pistol on the way back here. The looks I was getting—I kept thinking I had to play it safe. It's a war zone out there."

Grimly, Shepard's eyes returned to the holovid projector where the announcer was reporting on the riots in London before setting aside the box containing melanin-blocker pills that when ingested would change the colour of all new hair growth. Stripping the wrapping off the bottle of bleach, he walked into the small bathroom. Several minutes were spent squinting at the fine instructions before he set aside the bottle to wet his head under a creaky tap. As he did this, there came the sound of the door being opened and slammed shut.

He glanced back into the room to see Miranda depositing herself in a threadbare armchair with a huff. She'd kept her knee-high boots but changed to a pair of thicker pants, and swapped out the shirt beneath her zipped up leather jacket for a grey sweater. Her pistol was out in evidence, strapped to her right thigh.

"Problem, ma'am?" Shan's food-muffled voice drifted into earshot.

"Forget about getting to Sydney by the orbital shuttle service," she stated as she crossed her legs tightly. "We'd need working IDs, not to mention the fact that the next available service leaves in three days. Three days!"

Shepard glanced up at his reflection on the discoloured mirror. He poured a generous amount of bleach over the top of his head only to feel it trickle down his face. With a curse, he slapped the bottle on the sink and then scrambled to right it with one hand while he used the other to quickly spread the substance over his hair. After making sure he didn't manage to get any bleach into his eyes, he poked his head out of the bathroom.

"We'd never get pass a weapons check with the shuttle service anyway. Something covert might serve us better." He scratched his head, frowning at the growing burning sensation on his scalp.

Miranda looked up and gazed at him quizzically.

"What are you doing?"

"Trying to bleach my hair," he said with a look of intense concentration on his face. "My head feels like it's on fire."

"Don't tell me you applied it straight from the bottle."

"Isn't that how it's done?"

To his consternation, she began to laugh.

"You'd better wash it off before blisters start forming," she finally subsided enough to instruct as she entered the bathroom. "Where's the skin gel? Or the gloves?"

"What are you talking about?" Shepard muttered as he duck his head under the tap for the second time.

Miranda lifted the near-empty bottle of bleach before putting it down with a sigh. Turning towards the bedroom, she raised her voice.

"Shan, I'm going to need you to get more hair bleach. Make sure you buy equal amounts of protective skin gel this time. It's usually on the same shelf. And bring back a box of disposable gloves too, please."

"Right away, ma'am."

The sound of Shan exiting the room came as the running water finally did the trick. Shepard exhaled and touched his scalp gingerly.

He was rewarded by a faint snicker.

"Cut me some slack," he groused, running a towel over his head. "I've never had enough hair before to need to do this."

"Neither has Shan, it seems," she murmured.

He looked at her leaning against the door, and couldn't help but join in her mirth this time.

Over the past three days, they'd gradually found the right footing for a comfortable working relationship. Shepard found himself cherishing the sense of rightness that occurred more and more often during moments when their minds worked in tandem, arriving at the same conclusion almost simultaneously with a certainty that said they'd covered every possible contingency. And it was times like now that he realised with a pang how much he'd missed her company all these years, missed hearing her rare but infectious laughter.

_Why did it take you so long to figure out you could make her laugh like this again?_

He cleared his throat against the lump in his chest.

"I think we should consider renting a personal shuttle," he said, leaning against the sink. "That'll give us the widest selection of options, plus a clear advantage in planning our approach vector."

"The idea did occur to me," she replied after a while. "Except it'd make a big dent on our existing finances. But I suppose at some point I have to stop worrying over things like that. The bigger problem might be getting our hands on unregistered firearms that won't blow up in our faces."

And so it came to this, he thought with an inward sigh. He'd kept his reservations about landing in New Calcutta from both Miranda and Shan up till now. But it was a masquerade he knew he couldn't play at for long, not when the success of their mission hinged on coming clean.

"I might know of someone who could get us what we need. If I can find him," he added quietly, "It's been a very long time since I was last here."

She gazed at him in a way that suggested a thought just came to mind. But before it could be given voice, the door opened again and Shan appeared at the bathroom entrance proffering the requested bag of items.

"Thanks, Shan."

"No problem, sir."

Shan gave him a meaningful look, mumbled something about something he'd forgotten before leaving the room and closing the door with more strength than was necessary. Shepard shook his head. Likely, they'd need to have a talk about the potential pitfalls of good intentions. But he didn't dwell long on it before directing his attention to Miranda who was rummaging through the contents of the bag.

Setting aside the bottle of bleach with its accompanying gel, she slapped on a pair of gloves with efficient movements.

"I'll show you how it's done," she said, business-like, as she walked up to him. "After this, you're going to have to touch it up every other day or so, especially the beard area. Until the pills start taking effect."

Shepard nodded and then braced his feet apart to lower his height for her convenience. She hesitated even as his belated awareness kicked in at the same time.

"Uh, probably easier if I sit down."

Saying that, he shoved the toilet seat down and sat on it.

"I think you're going to want to remove your pullover," she said after a moment.

"Oh, right."

He undressed in a swift motion, shivering slightly in the cold air, before wadding the clothing into a tight ball with his hands. Soon after, he felt her fingers run lightly through his hair, parting it so she could apply the coat of gel that tingled on his scalp. He slowly relaxed in her gentle ministrations, surreptitiously breathing in the scent of her body at the same time.

"Chin up," she instructed as she came forward to slather gel on his cheeks. He complied, and accidentally met her eyes. The effect was immediate. Her gaze darted away like an allergic reaction as he managed just in time to stop himself from cringing.

"Sorry," he said, and then wondered what the hell he was apologising for. Quickly, he tore open another packet of gel and busied himself smearing it over the rest of his head until she slapped his hand away and muttered about how he was laying it on too thickly.

"What you said," she began brusquely again after a while, "before Shan came in—reminded me it'd slipped my mind you were born in New Calcutta. That information was mentioned only in passing in your files. I remember you telling me you used to run with the gangs, but other than that, you talked very little about that part of your life."

Her voice trailed off into uncertainty here even as Shepard closed his eyes, but for a different reason this time.

"I'd have rather it stayed that way."

He dared a straightforward look at her as the earlier sense of despondency he'd felt slowly dug its claws in again. Her eyes didn't slide away this time.

"I never expected to come back. There are many things here I wish I could forget. And it's not just this city I'm talking about." He grimaced, the smile he was trying for slipping off from the weight of returning memories. "At any rate, we'll need to hit the slums tomorrow for supplies. You'll get your glimpse of my life before the Alliance. Whether you like it or not."

Miranda bit her lip as if she was on the verge of saying something, then thought better of it. The rest of the work was conducted in deep silence.

As he'd promised, Shepard led them down one level into the Hooghly Slums proper the next day. Where it was visible, the sky remained overcast, a pathological sign of a planet in the throe of climatic upheaval. From orbit, it'd been impossible to separate the continents from the oceans with the blanket of white haze that covered much of the planet. Earth was deep in the grip of a nuclear winter, the result of the six-month Reaper standoff that had in the last days seen mass accelerator weapons, fired in desperate indiscrimination by friendly forces, raining destruction on the surface. The final shot had been when crippled hulks, dreadnaughts, cruisers and Reapers alike, spiralled into a decaying orbit. Their mass precluded the option of burning up on entry. Instead, they'd hit the ground like gigaton warheads, flattening all structures within a radius of tens of kilometres and kicking up massive amounts of dust into the atmosphere.

New Calcutta, as its inhabitants knew it now, lay crushed beneath a grey slate sky that reflected feeble spots of light from the ground, locking the Indian sub-continent into a climate of deep, unseasonal cold. Cheap prefabricated buildings rubbed shoulders with low-slung architectural relics from the last century in this part of the city. Many of these had their tops unceremoniously lopped off by the elements. Pedestrians learned never to walk underneath unless they wanted to risk the occasional rubble that fell and shattered sidewalks.

Shepard tugged the hood of his jacket securely in place only to push it back a while later to scratch his head.

"Stop doing that." Miranda admonished, walking at his side.

"I can't help it," he said under his breath. "It itches. And I look like a damn punk."

It was like Shan had mentioned. Hostility and apathy rubbed shoulders with each other to generate a raw abrasive feel in the air. Police presence was non-existent while signs of abject poverty were in sight everywhere. Now and then, young men with tattooed faces and colourful hair nursing firearms rode pass on overburdened hovertrucks.

"I think you fit in just nicely." Miranda said blandly, inclining her head at another truckload of garishly-dressed youths that sped by.

"Funny."

They made no attempts to conceal their pistols, but neither did they try to attract unwanted notice. Both Shepard and Shan wore Alliance-issued black boots and pants, nondescript enough that they could've been purchased from any store on Earth. On her part, Miranda had her own jacket hood up, this being not the kind of crowd she wanted to stand out in.

Following Shepard's lead, they crossed flights of stairs, walked down side streets and balanced their way across rickety gangplanks used to link the disparate levels of one tottering building to another. Upended drums with rubbish thrown into them were kept burning on streets by splashes of cheap kerosene, creating a ubiquitous sour smell that pervaded the cold, dusty air. Groups of people congregated around these spots, grimy faces staring with suspicion at anyone who walked pass. At one point, they walked past a dark lump on the ground an accidental kick by Shan revealed as a badly-decomposed body.

Shepard didn't even give it a glance. Inexorably, he led them deeper and deeper into the slum, back to the places where he _had_ been a young punk himself. Despite more than twenty years of absence, certain more permanent landmarks became familiar again. That was the easy part. The trickier work was trying to recall the location of a particular street corner in a quieter area. Shan's look of uncertainty and Miranda's impatience became apparent as he led them yet again down the same flight of stairs. But this time he took a different turn and saw with relief the little corner where a cobbler had set up shop.

"Comm-check," he instructed as when they reached the end of a small alley across the street from the corner. "Stay here until I call for you. I'm going to see if I can contact an old friend. Don't use my name from now on."

Making sure his earpiece was secured and live, Shepard tugged his collar up and walked up to the old cobbler who was toiling away at a shoe lopped over a leather-covered brick with a rickety hammer. Shepard knelt down and studied the features of the man. The decades had not been kind, but as the seconds went by, he became sure that it was the same man that'd plied his trade here from before. Carefully, he placed a hand on a hunched and emaciated shoulder.

"Uncle Raj? It's BJ. Do you remember me?"

Cataract-clouded eyes gazed at him in a squint, but then the decrepit old man shook his head and muttered in a phlegmy voice, "No, no..."

With a shake of his own head, Shepard glanced at his chrono. It was close to mid-day. If his memory served him right, the person he wanted to meet should come along soon. And he could only hope against all odds that twenty years wouldn't have changed that routine. Upending a wooden box, he sat on it, knees apart and arms resting on top of them. Turning around, he could see Miranda leaning against the alley wall, watching him. His gaze slid away as he prepared himself for what was hopefully a fruitful wait.

Tuneless whistling came into earshot before a short and stoutly-built man carrying what looked like a takeout box limped round the bend at the other end of the block. Shepard studied his old comrade in great relief before standing up and pushing his hood back.

"Abish."

Dark eyes widened on a pudgy face marred by deep scarring.

"BJ? S'that you?"

Shepard lifted his arms in a cooperative fashion.

"The same. Figured I'd wait here for you to bring lunch to your old man."

Abish's eyes narrowed.

"What do you want?"

"I need help, Abish. I didn't know who else to go to. There's no one left I know here."

Slowly, as if in pain, Abish knelt down beside his father and took away his tools before opening a box of food and carefully placing it on the old man's lap.

"Thought that was you on the vids," Abish muttered as he gently wrapped his father's hand around a fork. "What could Admiral John Shepard, saviour of the galaxy want from someone like me?"

Hesitation marred Shepard's brow as he wondered how much of the truth he could trust his old friend with.

"I'm a fugitive. The Alliance is after me," he confessed reluctantly. "You used to be a whiz with equipment. I figured you wouldn't have lost your touch."

Abish leaned over to pick bits of food from his father's jacket before shaking his head.

"Not everyone escapes the life they were born into. Unlike you." The bitterness in the other man's tone was apparent. "You slipped away to the stars like a greased pig. Left the rest of us to rot here. What makes you think I'd help you?"

Shepard sighed and hunkered down beside him, shivering in the biting wind.

"S'that what you think? After that heist, company troops were all over the place, bagging corpses for experiments, digging out survivors," he said quietly. "They saw my face when I pulled you and Wim outta there. One year, they kept at it. I had to enlist to take the heat off the gang."

The other man studied him as he said this, taking note of his bleached hair and patchy beard but remaining silent.

"You could probably raise the alarm. Maybe even turn me in for a nifty reward. But I don't want any trouble. Not for you, not for your old man," saying this, Shepard turned his head and nodded at Shan and Miranda who stood with easy assurance at the entrance of the alley, hands resting on their pistols. "I just need access to some supplies. For old times' sake?"

Resentment warred with admiration in Abish's eyes.

"You never lose your touch, do you, BJ?" He muttered as he fingered the scar tissue on his face. "Don't even remember much of that year. Just pain in, pain out. Couldn't hold a gun after that, so they made me quartermaster."

"Did Wim survive?"

Abish was quiet for a while.

"The fucktard recovered. Only to die two years after you left. Took a full clip in the chest playing hero in a turf war."

Shepard rubbed his forehead and sighed.

"Just you and me left then."

"Yeah." A wistful look came to Abish's eyes as he gazed at his father. "Da used to tell me you brought him food when I couldn't." He took a deep breath. "Just this once, BJ, for old times' sake. What kind of supplies you looking for?"

Standing up, Shepard offered his hand to Abish which the other man grudgingly accepted. Quietly, he gestured at Shan and Miranda to join them.

"Armour, equipment and unregistered firearms for the three of us. We'll pay for them. And you won't see me again after this."

Abish frowned as he took in the three of them.

"Head to Hotscotch Complex, 13A. Skeeter's my contact. Tell him I sent you and that he'll get his lemonade when the sun kisses my ass."

"Hotscotch Complex?"

For the first time, a slow smile appeared Abish's jowl-heavy face.

"Betting you won't forget where that is."

The place that Abish directed them to was located further out in the slum, almost at the edge of the city proper. It took an hour's walk to get there, but they had to spend an extra hour navigating the bewildering changes in streets and buildings. As they moved further away from the tiers of artificial streets, the heart of New Calcutta slowly emerged in view.

The centre of the city stood high above the surrounding land, gleaming new skyscrapers rising from the top of old construction. It'd come to the point where tearing down the old city underneath the new was no longer feasible and the increasingly derelict buildings below now doubled as supporting struts with additional support beams raised, massive concrete and steel structures, to shore up the weak areas. The middle and upper class lived exclusively on the top tiers of the city with easy access to sky vehicles, while the most affluent opted for penthouses at the top of the highest skyscrapers, several kilometres in the air in the middle of the city.

Shepard knelt down near the edge of the last of the artificial street tiers to gaze over the sprawling property known colloquially as Hotscotch Complex. Covering several square kilometres, the place had an industrial feel to it, towering metal tanks and a complicated piping system that linked many of the buildings together. On the far end, the burnt out shells of several structures suggested that something catastrophic had happened at some point in the past.

"What is this place exactly?" Miranda asked as she couched down beside him to prevent their silhouettes from standing out to potential observers below.

"It's an eezo refinery and storage facility. Defunct now." Shepard explained quietly. He narrowed his eyes to scan over the area. There was a decided lack of movement down there, but without more sophisticated equipment, which they were hoping to obtain from the exact same location, there was no way to be sure.

"Do you trust your friend?" she queried, going to the heart of the question he asked himself.

"Abish used to take his debts seriously. You don't get far if you don't honour obligations. That's all I can say."

"Is there something else you're not telling us?"

He saw her study him intently, the memory of their talk on the issue of trust came vividly to mind.

"No," he took a deep breath. "It's all water under the bridge now."

She closed her eyes briefly and then looked away, a gesture that seemed to lash him like a reproach. Inwardly, he couldn't help but cringe.

On the far side, Shan lifted his hand.

"If I may ask, sir, what does 'BJ' stand for?"

"Just a silly nickname." Shepard replied tiredly after a while. Pulling his pistol out, he rose to a half-couch and made a beeline for the rickety staircase at the edge. Behind him, Miranda and Shan followed suit.

Ten minutes went by as they skirted the perimeter until they located the warehouse stamped with the giant letters 13A on one side. Biotics made climbing the fence a non-event, and Shepard took the lead as they approached the building. With one hand on his holstered weapon, he mentioned Abish's name and gave the passcode to the entrance guard. Once they were allowed to step into the interior, he saw with relief that the number of guards was well within the numbers he'd expect for a weapon-dealer.

A balding man dressed in an expensive business suit introduced himself as Skeeter, expansive showmanship gestures subtly betraying his origins as a two-bit salesman. Shepard took the part of the genial customer while Miranda grilled the weapon-dealer over details like pricing and quality issues, falling into the roles they'd played so many times before as though the intervening years never existed.

Sub-machine guns, thermal clips, a box of grenades—as Shepard mentally ticked off almost every item on their list, he thanked Abish silently for giving them a high level password. Most of the equipment was excess military stock, nothing flashy but reliable at least. And as it turned out, Skeeter had a workshop secreted at the back of the building that made armour-fitting a job taking only hours instead of days.

From wariness, the atmosphere became almost relaxed as they waited to pick up their custom-fit armour. Browsing through some esoteric wares, Shepard nonetheless kept a lookout for his other two now-teammates. He noticed Miranda who was at one end of a long table, inspecting a selection of combat visors, doing the same. Which was why she reacted with the same low-level alarm as he did when Skeeter moved in to engage Shan in conversation.

Putting down the item he was looking at, Shepard strolled up just in time to hear Shan ask the innocuous question, "Why is this place called Hotscotch Complex?"

Skeeter puffed up perceptibly as he went into story-teller mode.

"Oh, it's very much a local legend. Except it's real and _did_ happen. This used to be an eezo refinery own by Hoshichiri Heavy Industries. Twenty years ago, a gang tried to conduct a daring heist of a massive cache of refined eezo. Partially for the profits, but also in protest of Hoshichiri's business practices—indiscriminate dumping of hazardous material, lack of environmental safeguards, you name it, they failed at it. Unfortunately, the operation went horribly wrong. A firefight between Hoshichiri guards and the gang took place. No idea if it was an accident or something else, but the whole cache blew up. Took out the entire compound over at the west side. Over fifty people died on the spot. Many, many more were badly burnt in the fallout."

Miranda had closed in on the group as he was saying all this.

"That must've been the damage we saw from a distance," she observed. "Still, it didn't look like a crippling enough blow for a complex this size to be shut down."

"Oh, the best part is yet to come. What happened after that was Hoshichiri conducted a giant manhunt, sent squads into the slum looking for the survivors. The few they managed to haul away were never seen again. After that, one of the kid survivors rallied the gangs, got them to fight back. If you've spent time in the slum, you'll know how hard it is to get that whole lot to point their guns at one target. But the skinny git did it. Got the gangs to conduct sabotage for months until city authorities stepped in. He followed up by organising protests, made such an ugly splash that Hoshichiri had to abandon this facility. It became known as Hotscotch Complex after that." Skeeter chuckled conspiratorially. "And a damn good place to set up shop in since it's pretty much a local monument. Authorities can't get within a mile without risking a slum uprising."

Shepard cleared his throat.

"Mind checking if the armour's ready for us, Skeeter?"

"Oh right. It's getting late out there. Bet you've got a ways to go."

Contemplative silence fell within the group as the weapon-dealer walked away, but thankfully, it wasn't long before he returned to say that everything was ready and they could take the goods and leave.

The next two days went by in a flurry of preparations. They booked a personal shuttle which was in the process of being prepped, with the take off slated for the next morning. Soliciting the service of a professional forger with the timeframe they had was out of the question, so Miranda set herself to the task of creating false IDs for them. Enlisting Shan as her personal runner, she sent him off with detailed instructions on materials she needed, and for a whole day, knocks on her door elicited snarls of frustration. Finally, by exploiting a loophole in the damaged database infrastructure, she managed to doctor fake IDs that bypassed security measures on local machines to display fictitious profiles. These wouldn't stand up to a rigorous check, but for cursory inspections they'd suffice. Immeasurably pleased with herself, she dragged Shan out on a shopping trip in one of the higher, more affluent street tiers to purchase stylishly-cut long coats and shoulder holsters so they could hide their light armour and weapons underneath.

Shepard couldn't help his bemusement as he was presented with his coat, which he now wore as he exited a hardware store in the slum. On his part, he'd continued to refine their equipment list, adding components like ropes, wire, cutting and welding tools as well as electronic parts used in the construction of makeshift alarms and timed explosives.

Walking down the street, he pulled his hood up and made his way to the pharmacy where Miranda was working on assembling a med-kit. But he didn't get half way when he came upon the rare sight of Alliance military police hauling a young man onto a crossroad and beating him up. A small crowd began to congregate when an old woman started screaming at the police to leave her grandson alone.

"Goddamn Alliance scum..."

The mutter of discontent began with a single voice, but it was soon followed by another and then another until an ugly murmur filled the air.

"Get the fuck out. Where were you bitches when Earth burned?"

"We don't need shitasses like the Alliance mucking into our business!"

He stood transfixed between the desire to do something and holding back for fear of exposing his identity. Sensing the tension, the Alliance police began forming a perimeter. Someone hurled a bottle from behind. It shattered on the ground. Another attempt to do the same near the front was put to an end by a baton swing.

Too late, Shepard realised he should've walked away immediately. Turning around, he found himself hemmed in by bodies that began to surge forward as one mindless entity. The sound of a gunshot ripped through the space. He turned back just in time to hear a loud roar as men threw themselves at a feckless policeman who'd fired the shot.

All hell broke loose. The crossroad collapsed into mayhem as more and more of the crowd joined in. Ramming his purchases into a capacious inner pocket, Shepard tried to shove away in the opposite direction, caring less and less about hurting people as it became obvious he was going to be embroiled in a riot. The name-calling had risen in volume. Terms like 'traitors' and 'public enemies' were hurled around indiscriminately. As Shepard jabbed an elbow against a particularly foul-smelling man in front of him, he felt someone rudely yank his hood off, exposing his face to the crowd.

"Hey, you look like that Admiral Shepard!"

"It's Shepard! Kill the traitor!"

Fists began to pummel him, having no effect when they hit armour, but there was no such protection for his head. He tried to shield his face the best he could, but a blow caught him on the temple, dazing him. From there, all it took was one misstep, and Shepard fell down into the crowd. Booted feet were far more effective than bare hands. After several failed attempts at rising, he could only raise his arms to protect his face as the blows began to rain down hard.

Just as he began to feel blood trickle down his face, the assaults suddenly eased off. He dared a look and was faced with a sight he would never forget.

In a distance, men were being thrown into the air, trailing waves of incandescent blue fire. The ones closest to the phenomenon fell on top of those behind. The effect was that of a mob being physically shoved away to make space where there was none before. Closer and closer, the surge approached, cutting a swath through bodies, until he finally saw Miranda at the epicentre of it. Here, deep within the shade of a street tier that stretched for kilometres above, the brilliant fire that danced over her lithe armoured form torched the air around her, enveloping her in an unearthly nimbus.

Screams of terror grew as people tried to dart away, slapping wildly at the flickering blue flames to no effect. She paid no heed to all of that as she flung an arm through another arc, widening the path in front of her. The sound of another gunshot tore through, but the bullet ricocheted against Miranda's biotic barrier before bouncing off harmlessly. She turned to glare at the perpetrator. With a snap of her wrist, she yanked the pistol out of his hand where it revolved in the air. Clenching her hand in a mimetic motion, she crushed the weapon into a formless lump of metal. Terrified murmurs began to grow, with cries of "Kali, Kali" rising from the cacophony.

Belatedly, Shepard remembered to fire up his own biotics, creating a shimmering barrier around himself. Except it was no longer necessary. The rabble in his vicinity tottered and finally collapsed as Miranda approached, scrambling to get away from her no matter that they stampeded over one another. She reached down to pull him to his feet, a final surge of blue energy radiating like a shockwave from her body as she expanded her own shield to merge with his.

Shaking his head to rid the dizziness, Shepard gripped her hand and ran for the nearest alleyway. Turning after turning he took, not caring that he was soon lost in the winding maze. The roar of what was now a large-scale riot interspersed with gunshots shook the air. They had to backtrack several times when they hit cul-de-sacs or when alleys opened into chaotic streets filled with combatants.

Every few seconds, Miranda turned her head to check for signs of pursuit. But all they came across were hapless slum-dwellers, mostly women and children caught unawares by the violence, huddling in corners with eyes averted. In an unspoken agreement, they gradually slowed down. Shepard's breath came out in bellowing gasps, the assumption that he'd acclimatised to Earth's standard gravity after New Canton's point eight slipping away as his muscles ached with a vengeance.

"Damn it," he cursed as they rounded a corner into another dead-end. Towering walls hemmed all vision to reveal only the underbelly of the street tier high above them. In the distance, siren calls began growing in strength as city authorities finally sent reinforcements into the slum.

Miranda stood slightly apart, breathing far more easily, as she fired up her omni-tool. After a minute or two, she switched it off.

"I can't get through to Shan on the short-range. Let's hope he's all right." She looked at him, hands resting on her hips. "How long do you think it'll take for that mob out there to disperse?"

"Won't happen for a while," he said, grimacing at blood on the hand he'd wiped his forehead with. "And the cops will be combing this place like a fine sieve. We need to get away from here."

She took a few steps as she directed her gaze all around before stopping at a manhole cover almost camouflaged by decades of grime in a corner.

Shepard followed the path of her eyes.

"Bad idea. What with the kind of things that go into the sewers. Dead bodies will be the least of our troubles down there. Besides," he added with a wry grin, "we'll never get the smell out of these spiffy new coats."

She sighed in well-practiced exasperation.

"If down isn't an option, I'm guessing up is?"

He exited the cul-de-sac in a brisk walk, scanning for a route overhead.

"Most likely. Once I get my bearings and know exactly where we are."

"I hope it doesn't involve hours of backtracking this time," her voice drifted from behind.

"Not everyone's a goddess of destruction who carves a straight path through," he chuckled with unabashed admiration in his voice. "You were amazing by the way."

She made an inelegant snort which led him to turn around with a grin.

"C'mon. It'd just be like a trip to the amusement park," he said, invoking memories of a happier time they shared.

Miranda simply shook her head, although the most oblique of smiles crossed her face.

"Lead on, Peter Pan."

As it turned out, the backtracking wasn't as drastic as Miranda feared, although Shepard decided to omit the fact that he'd never been in this part of the slum before. His difficulty in locating landmarks by virtue of being hemmed into the narrow confines of alleyways was alleviated when they managed to access a corroded slide ladder hanging overhead with the aid of biotics. From there, they began wending their way upwards, through dusty stairwells, flimsy exterior ladders, haphazard ledges and rickety gangplanks, keeping their barriers up at the same time in case of stray shots from below.

Makeshift bridges connecting one building to another further up gradually transformed the nature of their route, brick and mortar shop-houses gradually replaced by glass and steel fabricated towers. Walking past the shattered windows in a derelict office tower, Shepard glanced out and halted on his tracks, dumbfounded.

They were only ten stories up, but with the prevalence of low-lying buildings in the area, the slum stretched out more than a kilometre away. Fighting was taking place in almost every visible street. At certain chokepoints, uniformed police clashed with gangs that fought back with Molotov cocktails and small firearms. Drums of flaming rubbish were being toppled over and fuel thrown into the mess to create firewalls. Elsewhere, pockets of skirmishing continued to rage as slum-dwellers attempted to overwhelm hapless groups of police trapped behind the frontlines.

"Is it always this bad?" Miranda asked quietly as she took in the spectacle.

"Not that I can recall," he muttered. "Haven't seen anything like this since the Hotscotch incident."

"Let's keep moving," she said after a while. "We'll need to make a far bigger detour to get back to our street level."

"Maybe not." Shepard squinted at a skyscraper in the distance and cursed the fact that they'd left their visors back in the motel. "Can you make out the word on that building over there?"

She walked up to the edge of the wall, narrowing her eyes.

"It's Nikon, I think." She turned to him in immediate understanding. "That's the name of our motel. Can we can get there without hitting the streets?"

"It's worth a shot. We're entering my old hunting grounds." With that, Shepard took the lead again, plunging them back into the bewildering maze. The landmarks were becoming more than familiar, right down to the rubble-filled corners and unstable sky bridges that spanned this part of the walkways. With only the slightest of hesitation, he tackled turnings and stairwells, looking out of windows whenever possible to gauge the distance to their destination.

He knew his luck wouldn't hold out against the odds of twenty years likely having changed certain things. Moments later, that fear became reality as they came up against a brick wall that stood innocuously out of place at the end of a fire-blackened corridor. A quick glance through a gap in the wall revealed the Nikon Tower rising just several blocks away, the top of it disappearing through the base of next street tier.

He wracked his memories furiously as they backtracked to the last intersection. But no matter how hard he tried, only a single route came to mind. The words he'd said to her—that she'd likely see parts of his past he'd rather stayed hidden—a few days before came vividly to mind. But there was, he realised with a sinking heart, no other alternatives.

The roar of the riot, coming from five stories below, was deafening. Shepard didn't need to look down to know that they were directly above a chokepoint where the fighting would be at its most intense. Going down to the streets would be suicide. Taking a deep breath, he made for the stairwell and began descending towards the heart of the chaos.

Two levels before they hit the street, Miranda reached out to stop him with a grip on his arm, concern evident on her face. Smiling at her, he gave her hand a reassuring squeeze before releasing it.

"This way."

Exiting the stairwell, Shepard jogged along a short hallway that showed signs of extensive fire damage from the recent decades. At the end of an apparent dead-end, he knelt down and began shifting through a pile of blackened timbers to reveal a hole in the wall and a dark tunnel beyond it. It was a tight fit; he could barely scrap his shoulders through although Miranda fared better. They ran along at a half-bent, the sound of metal gantry underfoot echoing faintly in the confined space. Sounds of the fighting slowly abated the further they moved until their breathing and footsteps were the only audible noises. Progress beyond the passageway was blocked by a wooden door crudely hammered together with slabs of plywood.

Cautiously, Shepard cracked the door open to peer through before swinging it back against the wall. He stepped through into a dimly-lit corridor with doors located in regular intervals on both sides suggesting this used to be an office previously. Threadbare carpeting deadened their footsteps further until faint sounds drifting through the closed doors could be heard. They were trotting down the hallway towards the bend at the end when Miranda paused at the sound of a child's sobbing that was quickly stifled. A staccato banging followed soon after before fading into the background.

"What the hell was that?" she muttered as she caught up with him.

He didn't reply as they rounded the bend to find themselves in another long, unmarked hallway very similar to the one before. The muted sounds continued to filter into the space, whimpering noises too high-pitched to come from an adult interspersed with sporadic bumps and grunts.

Stopping in the middle of the passageway, Shepard mentally counted the number of doors before placing his ear against the one on his left. After a minute or so, he opened it to be assaulted by an overpowering smell of stale sweat and sex. He paid it no heed as he crossed the tiny room and began pushing away a heavy mattress overlaid with stained bed sheets shoved against the wall. A backward glance revealed Miranda standing at the doorway, a look of disquiet dawning on her face as she realised what this place was. But a moment later, she closed the door and came forward to assist, lending her strength until they exposed a metal trapdoor set into the floor.

A hoist of the rusty handle revealed the dank interior of a giant metal pipe beneath the flooring, far tighter than the tunnel they'd emerged from. Traversing this space was a nightmare, made worse when it started sloping upwards steeply. It'd been a snug fit when he was a kid, and he found he had to hunch deeply to get through now. After ten minutes of painful crawling, Shepard lifted a hand periodically to knock on the ceiling until he was rewarded by a hollow sound. Twisting his body in small movements so he was lying on his back, he reached up to locate the seams of a hidden panel before pressing down on a spring to open the hatch. Ignoring the agony of pulled muscles, he extricated himself before reaching down to assist Miranda out.

They were high up above the streets, on a small platform linked by a series of pipes that snaked in and out of the ceiling gantry immediately overhead. Three sides of the landing were cordoned off by a metal railing while the remaining side was blocked by a wall with a primitive and torn control panel inlaid into the bulwark. The remains of a makeshift camp with campfire scorch marks on the floor gave hints to the reason for the unorthodox passage they'd just took. Straight across the span of a relatively deserted street, their motel building towered, shattered windows of the lower storeys standing tantalisingly out of reach.

He knelt down and pulled out the bag of purchases from his coat pocket to extract a coil of rope. Grasping his intention, Miranda walked over to examine the gutted panel in the wall. The telltale glow of biotics enveloped her body as she laid hands on an L-shape metal inset. Ripping it out to the groaning accompaniment of stressed metal, she offered it to Shepard who made twin strangle-knots across the piece. It took a few attempts before he finally managed to swing the heavy end into the tower. A little nudge of biotic energy finally settled it firmly into place over a window ledge. Securing the other end of the rope to the metal railing, he fired up his biotics to lower his mass before swinging over the edge to grapple across. When they were both safely across, he looked back on the length of rope with faint regret. Unceremoniously, Miranda retrieved a knife from her boot and cut the link.

Punching the button that would take them to their room floor, they finally took the luxury to lean against the walls of the lift as it carried them upwards in fits and starts, rising above the lower tier of the slum and onto the next level. Upon reaching his room, Shepard walked over to look out of the window. The relative normalcy on this level of the city was almost mind-boggling in contrast. Shan's filtered voice broke into his musing and he turned around to see Miranda speaking into her omni-tool.

Shutting it down, she approached the window. "He's fine, although he says it'd take him at least an hour to get back up here."

"I should probably hole up in here until it's time to take the shuttle."

"It was a fluke that they correctly guessed your identity," she said as she lifted a hand to examine the wounds on his face. "If you're under unofficial remand, it would be stupid of the Alliance to publicly reveal your disappearance."

Unslinging a brand-new medical pouch she'd been carrying across her back, she divested herself of her coat and dropped it on the bed. From the pouch, she took out a pack of synthetic swabs and a bottle of disinfectant.

"Come here so I can tend to those cuts."

Shepard looked away from the window, and was on the verge of demurring, then changed his mind. Rising to his feet, he activated the hologram system with a voice command.

The newsfeed came on as he sat down tiredly on the bed, reporting on the full-scale rioting that was taking place below them. The headline "Hooghly Slum's Fourth Riot of 2195" flashed periodically across the base of the holographic projection. Miranda glanced at the projection now and then, a grim expression on her face.

Closing his eyes, Shepard called off the newsfeed. The room settled into a deep silence. Outside the window, fresh snow was falling. It had all started off as a vague sense of dread about coming back here and bit by bit, what he'd feared came to be and passed. What he'd expected was the renewed abrasion of old wounds but all he felt was relief at the chance to exorcise old ghosts.

"I never knew my parents. I was abandoned at birth. John Shepard was the name I gave myself when I enlisted. Wanted it to be with two 'p's, after Jorgum Sheppard, hero of the 2067 Kathmandu Uprising, but I misspelt it."

He chuckled at the memory, lightheaded with his decision at catharsis. Briefly, Miranda's hand paused over his face, and then she resumed her ministrations.

"I joined the gangs when I was old enough. And then I hung on until I could enlist with the Alliance. What I said to Abish about taking the heat off the gang? That was all bullshit. More than anything else, I wanted to get away. One year after Hotscotch, I developed biotic abilities. It became my ticket out of here. Service represented everything that was the opposite of this. Other than the rioting, the nuclear winter, nothing's changed."

He winced as she probed a particularly deep cut on his left temple.

"Sorry," she said and gentled her touch. After a while, she murmured, "Hard as it was, your time here did prepare you for the work you had to do."

"I don't regret that part. All this—is who I am. But I used to entertain ambitions of coming back when I've made my name, try and make a difference here. What this trip taught me was to recognise pipe dreams for what they are."

Over the decade, they'd occasionally swapped stories from their past, interesting anecdotes shared over pillow talk. Some of what he'd said, Miranda already knew, but certain things just didn't have that visceral impact until seen. She seemed to have arrived at the same conclusion for a veil of reservation clouded her expression.

"Can I ask you something?" she said hesitantly as she finished applying protective covering over the worst of his hurts.

Shepard queried her with raised eyebrows as he helped repack the med-kit.

"What was your life like before the gangs?"

And then there were some truths that just hit too close to home. But maybe, the time to keep secrets from each other was finally over.

Still, he couldn't help his dread. Hand arrested in the motion of wrapping a roll of bandage, he looked at her in stark honesty.

"Do you really want to know?"

This close, he could see the indecision warred in her eyes, her indefatigable sense of curiosity overlaid by what could only be sympathy.

She bit her lip and finally shook her head.

He lowered his gaze, and because he felt compelled to, murmured, "Thank you."

They sat there on the bed in the companionable silence for a while. Hands slowed down in the packing of swabs and sealing of bottles along with the lessening of the tension in the air. Gradually, Shepard became aware that their legs were side by side, that he could feel the heat of her body radiating through the ceramic plating of his light armour. More importantly, she didn't seem to be bothered by it.

"I hadn't thought about my father in a long time until I heard about his death," she said softly after. "That was when I realised the mental hold he had over me was gone." She shrugged. "I'd have thought the revelation would be more earth-shattering, except I seemed to have misplaced the farewell note."

He replied the rueful look on her face with a commiserating smile. Placing the last object in the box, Miranda shut the medical kit firmly. She lowered her head, allowing her long dark hair to fall free, before brushing it back with her hand.

"Sometimes, I find myself missing the person I'd been before. But I can't imagine doing certain things now I'd have done ten years back. Neither do I want to go back to justifying every aspect of my life beyond my father's charity. I'm done with that." She exhaled softly. "We'll just have to accept we can't go back to being who we were."

It was though he was slowly granted a vision as she said this. And for the first time in a long time, Shepard felt a glimmering of optimism for a future that might not be so bleak. After all, the galaxy was a large place. The mission still came first, and strangely, he found himself looking forward to it as the days of preparation slid pass. But now, he could finally allow himself to wonder what he could do after all this was over.

Likewise, he couldn't help his rising sense of intrigue at her revelation. And he wondered if he might be granted the chance to see the changes she'd mentioned about herself. It was obvious that Oriana's rescue would provide part of that key. After so many years, there was finally a personal stake to the mission again. Perhaps that was the perspective that'd been missing for both of them all these years. Wrapping up all of that was a painful and tremulous hope that just maybe, he could still somehow earn her regard and trust again.

He was done apologising, but he wasn't going to stop there.


	10. Chapter 4 Part 1

**A/N: **Firstly,I want to announcea new change in formatting around here. Based on some feedback, I've decided to split my chapters into smaller chunks. This means each chapter will still be released in its entirety, but broken into several segments for easier reading and bookmarking. I've gone and done the same for the earlier chapters so don't panic if you suddenly find yourself reading a 13-chapter story. You didn't miss anything.

Secondly, kudos again to Ieldra, my beta-reader for a number of things. You have him to thank for suggesting that I write the flashback right at the start of this chapter. With his permission, I have also "linked" universes with his ongoing story: Promethean Legacy (.net/s/6289060/1/) which explores facets of Miranda's childhood. Any reference made to events and locations from his story are entirely standalone, so there's no need to do 'homework'. Nonetheless, I encourage you to check out his fic which I consider as one of the best Miranda-theme fics out there.

Lastly, a shout-out to Tigrina, jillyfae and Nightwriter from The Character Room forums for their various feedback and advice. Not to mention big kudos to fongiel for taking hours to help me flesh out the details of the flashback.

And since I've rambled longer than I usually would, I'd also like to say a big thank you to everyone who has reviewed the story one way or another. Your feedback is immensely appreciated. :)

* * *

**Chapter 4**

_**2178 CE, Nos Astra, Illium**_

Miranda woke up with a jerk, cued by her internal time clock that said it was deep night. She turned around to study the man sleeping on the other side of the bed with a clinical eye.

Satisfied that his slow breathing was indication of deep sleep, she rose naked and padded across the room to retrieve her omni-tool from her overnight bag. Snapping it over her left wrist, she turned it on and pulled up the diagnostic function, setting it to calibrate as she walked back to her side of the bed.

Finally, she lifted her hand so the device hovered directly over the comatose form of her designated mark, and set herself to wait for the results.

Over the years, she'd garnered for herself a reputation as a trouble-shooter within Cerberus. Six months back, the Illusive Man had called her in personally to assist with a particular cell. The job was simple enough. Go undercover in Genex Chemical, an asari-owned company, infiltrate their R&D department and devise a way to break into their high-security vault to retrieve research data on the advancement of human biotics.

Vagaries of ecological lottery created the asari as the only sapient biotic race in the galaxy. Even so, there had to be a biological system to enable the absorption of eezo from the environment. For the first few decades of their lives, asari children were traditionally fed an eezo-enriched diet to increase the size of their biotic nodules. As Miranda understood it, it was never clear why the mechanism shut down around the fourth decade. But by the expedient approach of isolating the cocktail of compounds produced during those formative years, Genex Chemical had hoped to kick-start the process again in adult asari.

In an ironic twist of fate, the breakthrough came, but not with asari physiology. One version of the compound was found to work on human biotics. The effect was far from perfect; running the usual gamut of side effects like cancer risks and acute eezo poisoning associated with accidental exposures.

A loud snort interrupted Miranda's thoughts as her mark—Corwin Leonov—began turning around. She moved her omni-tool beyond his field of vision, one finger hovering over the shutdown button. Thankfully, he muttered something incomprehensible before lapsing into sleep once more.

She breathed a soft sigh of relief and returned her arm to the optimal position. The reading she'd set the diagnostic program to run wasn't disrupted.

Excellent. Five more minutes to go.

She had to admit it was a stunning find. The notion that human biotics could cultivate the size of their eezo nodules beyond the initial exposure had set her mind on overdrive. It was lamentable humanity had to rely on an uncontrollable mechanism to produce biotic-capable individuals. But the compound could mean an increase in the pool of viable biotics from the vast number of latent exposures. It would also give existing biotics an edge against those of other alien species. No matter how minimal it might be, humanity could profit from a leg up on the galactic stage as newcomers.

The results had been indisputable enough that Genex formed a team to capitalise on the find. Specialists in human biology and biotics were roped in, and a luminary of the field, Corwin Leonov chosen to preside over the project. The team was human-centric, but the Illusive Man was right. The majority of Genex's shareholders were asari, and wouldn't share the same interest of making their discovery readily available to their target market.

The mission called for her to infiltrate the team as a junior scientist. Her credentials were obviously faked, skilfully inserted into the job database by Cerberus technicians, but she'd spent three months undergoing intensive cramming. The result of such a crash course wouldn't stand up to scrutiny. Her skill at hiding her deficiencies and deflecting notice was expected to make up for that. Besides, there remained a certain satisfaction knowing she was likely the best candidate at hand. It was always gratifying to find another niche where her talents could be utilised.

Miranda tapped a finger impatiently against her thigh. Two minutes left.

Leonov chose this time to move again, his hand reaching out towards where she'd be if she were asleep. Smoothly, she raised her omni-tool out of the way while glancing at the readout. When it became obvious he was waking up, she disengaged the catch attaching the device to her arm.

"What're you doing?" he rumbled as she cast herself into his clumsy embrace. The green light came on just as she tossed the omni-tool off her side of the bed.

She ran a hand through her hair, mussing it thoroughly, and chanced a throaty laugh.

"I got disoriented. Forgot where I was for a while."

"Did you need something? I could get it for you."

That wouldn't do at all. Easing a surreptitious leg over the edge of the bed, she tried to locate the omni-tool.

"Oh, not at all," she improvised while cursing mentally at the futility of blind fishing. "Just the experience of waking up in a strange bed, that's all."

"I see. Sorry about that. I hope you'll get used to it though."

Corwin Leonov was a genius in his field, and could probably paper every wall in this apartment with the honorary degrees he'd been awarded. He was a surprisingly athletic and well-groomed scientist in his late-forties. Deeply married to his work, he didn't mind the occasional tryst and was known to be a genial lover. All that knowledge had been crucial in devising a cover that would play on her mark's weaknesses.

"I wouldn't mind a bit more help easing in," she aimed for the right level of coquettishness, "And I do believe we can work something out to our mutual satisfaction."

In the dimness of the room, she saw his chest heave in silent laughter.

"Don't think that'd be a problem. And I suspect we'll need the downtime in the next few months."

It was an opening, but she restrained herself. Timing and subtlety were crucial here, a well-placed note of sympathy far more effective in encouraging the human tendency to unburden secrets without incriminating her.

"I suppose I'm in good hands, then?" she teased with a soft laugh.

He chuckled.

"I hope so, but, ah, there's something that has to be cleared up."

"And that would be?"

"Just this, our arrangement can't be a factor in how I treat you during office hours."

It was as though cold water had been splashed on her face.

"I've been absolutely professional in the two months since I've joined Genex. I believe that was plain for all to see."

He looked at her, surprise evident in the predominance of the whites of his eyes.

"That's true," He admitted thoughtfully. "My apologies."

It had been instinctual, that sudden indignation. Harshly, Miranda chastised herself. She had no business feeling righteous in the first place.

"Sorry about that. I've been a little on the edge lately," she said smoothly to cover her faux pas. "The past two months _have_ been hectic trying to get my bearings."

"It's a pity you joined us at this time. I won't lie; the next month will be hell with department hounds breathing down our necks." he raised his voice at the ceiling. "A project evaluation when we're waiting for a breakthrough? Thanks, really."

"Can't be that bad if you can still joke about it," she murmured, lifting herself up on one elbow, cheek resting on a closed fist.

"We're moving onto human testing next." Leonov's voice became serious. "Frankly, we're not ready for it. But I'm compelled to push the timetable forward."

Faint alarm bells began ringing at the back of her mind. She tried to mask it with suitable nonchalance.

"Is this something I should be worried about?"

"Our resident chump and department head, _Professor_ T'Yana," he put a bitter spin to the designation, "has dropped non-too oblique hints that she expects something that can translate into profitable results by the end of the fiscal year. Otherwise, we'll see budget cuts or in the worst case I'll be facing replacement."

That was definitely something she could do without. Mentally, Miranda did a calculation. One more month to complete the mission and the end of the fiscal year was twelve weeks away. Perhaps the worry was unfounded, but complacency and sloppiness had no place in her missions if she could help it.

"She didn't really say that, did she?" She feigned surprise suitable for a junior scientist without much contact with company brass. "Because that sounds awfully impolitic. Unless things have gone past the point-of-no-return..."

Leonov sighed deeply.

"I expect T'Yana is panicking because of pressure from higher up. In hindsight, I can't say I blame her. But she of all people ought to know the work we're doing is ground breaking. There's a momentum to such things. It saddens me she's toeing the corporate line. She ought to just join them and not give us scientists a bad name."

"Well, if you go around sprouting such views," she idly traced a finger along Leonov's collarbone. "It's no wonder anyone takes offense."

"I _will_ put my career on the line if that's what it takes," Leonov growled. Then he exhaled tiredly. "Except it seems I've lost that particular bargaining chip. Suffice to say we can probably expect more fireworks in the oncoming days."

"Hey, take it easy." She was compelled to say, playing the role of a sympathetic lover. "I'm sure things will work out fine."

"Did I mention you are a godsend?" He turned to bury his face in her neck. "Chances are you're going to be the only thing keeping me sane."

What came next could be seen from a mile away. She capitulated to his ministrations with quaint amusement. Such interludes could be enjoyable, provided there weren't other concerns in her mind. Lowering one leg to the floor, she finally found the errant omni-tool and kicked it underneath the bed.

That was one concern off her checklist...

There were no signs of the fireworks Leonov hinted at in the following days. And fears of disruptions to her plans faded from Miranda's mind. A morning of brisk work had granted her a bit of leisure time and she'd volunteered assistance with a side project with an eye towards completing the next step of her mission.

Holding up a datapad, she faked absorbed perusal as she entered the lift, play-acting for the camera overhead. Upon picking the lowest basement level as her destination, the security system emitted a rude _blaat_, demanding clearance. She inserted her employee ID card with the name Esther Callaghan engraved across it into the read-slot.

The best disguise was one that borrowed from the agent's existing personality to create a tangential persona that simply required a little embellishment to come across as authentic. Esther Callaghan was twenty-eight Earth standard years old, a bio-engineer possessing of a standoffish personality that made getting close to her difficult. Brilliant and efficient, any finicky supervisor would be hard-pressed to find fault with her work. For all intents and purposes, she was just another employee, saying and doing what people wanted to hear and see.

The vaults were located in the lowest basement level. Her cover destination was the supply storage rooms at the far end, but this particular route would take her conveniently pass the entrance. The level indicator overhead blinked rapidly as the lift descended, the changes in pressure differential creating popping sounds in her inner ear. She worked her jaw to get rid of the feeling as the lift door opened up to a nondescript corridor ending at a security door.

Ever conscious of cameras, Miranda fired up her omni-tool as if to compare information on her datapad. As she reached the door, she extracted a stylus-shaped scanner from her lab coat pocket. This went into the hand holding the datapad, positioned so the reader end would be aimed at the security system of the vault entrance.

In filling the space around her person with sufficient electronic noise, she sought to hide its activity. The security door blinked green and opened. Across the room, a guard came to attention. She waved at him without looking up from her datapad and slowly made her way towards the door located on the adjacent wall, angling the scanner to give it ample reading time.

The mission objective was to retrieve the instructions on how to synthesise the compound kept beyond that checkpoint. In the course of two months, Miranda had learned that every project lead had to undergo a procedure to implant a code device deep within their body. The device transmitted a code that was read by the vault system, a code that changed every three days as employees underwent daily security checks.

A physical passcard valid for twenty-four standard hours completed the entire set up. It was a robust system given that any attempt to remove the device would engage the self-destruct mode, precluding the possibility of a more callous approach. Pity her standing order was for Leonov to be left intact for future information retrieval, or she could've simply coerced him into compliance. Or so she'd thought. Strangely, the extra length she had to go to didn't feel so put on now.

Three, two, one... That ought to do it. She slipped through the other door without an incident and kept walking down the narrow hallway filled with doorways on either side. Swiping her ID card across the reader of one of them, she entered a supply room and stopped directly beneath the single live camera. Assured of the blind spot, Miranda examined the collected data with professional satisfaction.

_That's another one down._

The next task was to crack the encryption in the code transmitted through the device in Leonov's body and replicate it on a machine to be read by the vault system. Here, a beep intruded from her omni-tool. It was a request from Leonov's secretary, as well as a timely reminder to move from her spot to avoid generating suspicion. Walking down one of the rows of shelves, she picked up the box of supplies she was assigned to retrieve and made her way upstairs.

Leonov's secretary, a stout human woman in her middle-age, regarded her in a harried fashion when she reached his outer office.

"Professor T'Yana's in there. She wants a copy of the work your team has done on enzyme reduction."

"I have it here with me. Should I go in now?"

"Yes. Got to warn you, things aren't pretty in there."

Miranda glanced at the view window on the door to Leonov's office and saw the asari gesticulating violently. Perhaps there _was_ something to worry about after all.

She opened the door to Leonov's "come in" just in time to see T'Yana place both hands on Leonov's table in confrontation. The asari looked up at her with ill-concealed hostility before taking a step back.

"I was told you wanted the research on the EC-0 lyase inhibitor reduction, Professor T'Yana?"

T'Yana accepted the data card wordlessly before turning to Leonov.

"Two weeks, Doctor. It's ungracious to say this in front of your subordinate, but the repercussions include your being replaced if the board of directors deem progress insufficient."

Heavy silence fell in the office after the asari left. Suddenly, Leonov seized a datapad and threw it at a wall. It shattered and fell to the floor in pieces.

It was the first time she was given glimpse of this usually proud and controlled man losing his temper. Carefully, Miranda walked over and began picking the pieces up to buy time thinking what she ought to say.

As it turned out, she needn't worry about Leonov being reticent.

"I'm sorry you had to see that." He muttered. "I _hate_ money-counters. We're making scientific history here and all they care about is their profit line."

She disposed of the broken pieces into a waste bin before turning to face him.

"What's the problem? What exactly is preventing human testing from proceeding along?"

"The compound isn't ready! We can spend millions of credits proving that's the case, or they can take my word for it." He slammed a fist against the table. "Except my word's worth _squat_."

She studied him long and hard. This was a man facing the proverbial push come to shove. And she still didn't know him well enough to predict which way he'd jump. But it was plain as day there was a real threat to her objective.

"Would you mind tell my secretary to cancel my plans for the rest of the day?" Leonov sighed before looking up at her apologetically. "I'm afraid that includes our dinner date tonight. I'll try and make it up, I promise."

She hesitated, unable to suppress her sense of discomfort at his obvious distress.

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Not unless you can blackmail the board into changing their minds." He gave a sharp laugh that rang just a little hollow to her ears. "Don't worry about it. This old bear's still got his teeth. It'll take more than a pack of corporate mongrels to take me down."

Miranda's mind went into overdrive as she walked back to her cubicle. She'd more or less gotten past the "teething" period, acclimatising to her cover work as a bio-engineer. Even though it continued to grate her at how often she had to fudge her reports, covertly contacting specialists under Cerberus's payroll to pass their work off as hers. It was an irritation made worse with the discovery of just how fascinating the field of study was. And more than once, she caught herself entertaining notions of undertaking relevant studies once this mission was over.

Idle fancies would have to wait. Right now, the important thing was to find a way to help Leonov keep his position. Something had to give, and that something would not be her mission. Deep vexation coloured her realisation that this was another problem she wasn't equipped to resolve.

Once again, she was going to have to request for Cerberus help.

Despite her playing no role in its dissemination, news filtered down over the next week. The subsequent days saw the entire team working feverishly to meet the deadline for human testing. She saw little of Leonov privately during this time, although she couldn't help but be pleasantly surprised when he sent her a bottle of twenty-year old Chianti Classico as apology for cancelling their dinner date.

It was the only bright spot in days that merged into a race against time, a race that became increasingly clear they were losing. She'd set the bait and threw out the line. The only thing left to do was wait and see if Leonov took it.

On this particular day, they'd spent the whole morning on wet bench work before feeding the data into computers for analysis. Deeply absorbed over preliminary results on her datapad, Miranda was on her way to refill her coffee mug when she felt Leonov close behind her, his low rumbling voice raising the fine hairs on her neck.

"Dr. Callaghan, if you'd step into my office for a moment?"

She schooled her face into polite enquiry as he keyed the door lock and turned the view window opaque. Without preamble, Leonov beckoned her attention to his console screen where she saw the research data she'd requested from Cerberus. As she'd intended it, there were no traces of the sender's identity or point of origins.

"Interesting angle, isn't it?" he said briskly. "Tackling our problem from the subject end by raising receptor activity in the nodules via synthetic hormones?"

"Oh yes." She replied blandly, playing her cover persona to the hilt. "But I'd imagine something like this would've occurred to you."

"Any scientist worth their salt knows that for an untrained mind, an emotional state of mind is far more conducive to dark energy conversion. But this article actually lists a magnitude of effects brought on by hormones involved in different emotional responses, responses amounting to physical torture and rape." He paused here. "It's a very daring piece of work. Not to mention unethical in its implications."

"I wouldn't jump to that conclusion if I were you," she was compelled to say. "It does state the initial tests involved recreating said situations via virtual simulations. The compounds were then synthesised in the lab and directly injected into consenting test subjects."

The data had come to her void of any names or incriminating references, but she suspected the source was likely the cell she'd been tasked to assist. The research pinpointed emotional trauma as the key for optimal biotic performance, trauma that could only result from abject desperation, realising that you were about to undergo an irrevocable violation of body and mind. No, no, it was preposterous. Such an approach was pointless and excessive when virtual simulation was almost as effective for eliciting similar responses. There was no reason to suspect the scenarios Leonov implied took place at all. It was why she thought it safe to disseminate the information.

But Leonov glossed over her defence as though he was merely stating his observations.

"What's also interesting is that I received this article two days after that scene with T'Yana," he murmured. "No one else on the team had gotten wind of the problem then. And I sincerely doubt T'Yana would've any reason to be solicitous towards me."

It was never Miranda's intention to hide that she was the one who leaked the information. Likely she would have to corroborate the information for him to take it seriously, something she continued to hold out as being unnecessary. Still, it made her wonder why he sat on the data for a week.

Mistaking her introspection for reticence, Leonov's voice took on a pleading tone.

"Esther, I _know_ you sent the information. Please don't play coy with me. Can I trust this piece of research?"

"I can't tell you my source, but the research _is_ sound," she said reluctantly. "You'll have to take my word for it."

He ran his hands through his hair in obvious distraught.

"I can't. Don't you understand? There's no room for error. As it is, I'd have to sacrifice scientific integrity if I include this in the test parameters. I sat on your data for so long because I can't imagine doing that. But I'm desperate."

The initial need to ingratiate herself into Leonov's bed had been distasteful. But it was the only way to elicit the device embedded in his body into transmitting its access code. The process had required close proximity and uninterrupted access which made seduction the best option. But if Miranda had to admit, the experience had been far more pleasant that she'd imagine.

After all this time, she'd arrived at the conclusion that Leonov wasn't a bad man. He led his team by example, exhibiting a manic energy that was deeply infectious. Some people thought him arrogant and dismissive of those he considered beneath his attention. But that didn't matter to her. She'd been similarly accused of those traits before. What her interactions uncovered was a brilliant man who was truly taken with his work, driven and dedicated. It was a plus point that he also possessed impeccable tastes and manners. And she had to admit his attentions flattered her. It'd been singularly refreshing to discuss subjects like art and music with someone who knew exactly what she was talking about.

Her original directive was to keep this man intact for further data retrieval, but she had to wonder if her decision to follow that order was strictly professional now. What she was about to do went above and beyond the requirement for an undercover operative. But she'd never failed a mission before, and definitely wasn't about to begin.

Clinging to that thought like a lifebuoy, she sat down slowly and folded her hands on her lap.

"I think it may have crossed your mind that I'm a biotic," she began quietly.

"I wouldn't be surprised." He murmured. "Now that you mention it, your deductions in certain areas do make for a consistent pattern that tells me you have first-hand experience."

"You have to understand all I can give you is anecdotal evidence. Nothing more."

He made a neutral sound of encouragement as he studied her intently.

"My father was obsessed with exploring my biotic potential when he found out I was one. He was a rich man who spared no resources finding the best tutors for me. But he became frustrated when I didn't perform to his expectations. So he arranged for me to be raped."

Word by word, she forced herself to weave the tale. It was a construct of half-lies and artful embellishment, but containing enough of the truth to make the experience a baring of a painful part of her innermost self.

"I escaped that fate because I gave him what he wanted. Given the instinctual choice between fight or flight, I chose to fight. My biotics spiked greatly in strength after that."

She lifted a datapad from his table and held it in plain sight. The glow of biotics suffused the space around her. Slowly, it intensified until the phenomenon was concentrated around her hand. With a puff and a flash of blue fire, the entire datapad disintegrated into a cloud of fine dust.

Leonov stared at her display with amazement.

"Wha-" he croaked, and then cleared his throat for another attempt. "What happened to-to your assailants?"

"I killed them. My father covered the whole thing up. He was pleased with the results." She rubbed her palms together to get rid of the residual dust, buying time to regain her composure. "But there's no need for us to go to such drastic lengths. The compounds listed in that research will do just as well."

"No, of course," he muttered with heartfelt disgust. "I can't imagine subjecting anyone through something like that."

"Good. Do you want me to prepare the compound?"

Her question seemed to finally jolt Leonov from his distraction.

"Yes, I suppose you have to. Can't let anyone else know about this." He shook his head, and then muttered, "I'm sorry I made you bring that up. It must have been terrible."

With supreme effort, Miranda clamped down her hostility at the ill-concealed offer of sympathy. The act also brought to mind how close she'd let her real personality intrude into the situation.

She struggled for a smile, knowing it was likely as ghastly as the look on his face.

"It happened a long time ago." She rose, at the end of her tether, professional or personal. "Now if you'll excuse me, there's a lot of work to do."

As she'd hoped, testing went without a hitch over the next week. Word from the grapevine was the results had taken the board-of-directors by storm. Morale was high in the team, but all Miranda could think was she was finally on track to complete the mission.

She'd secreted parts of the scanner built to decrypt the code in various places within the lab complex. The computer virus needed to fudge security systems for the duration of the heist was in the final stage of being programmed. In as soon as one week, she'd have all that was needed to retire the persona of Esther Callaghan. The thought didn't cheer her as much as it should. But she refused to dwell on it as preparations went on.

Just an hour ago, she'd finally granted herself the liberty to check on Oriana. Ironic considering this was the first time she'd spent more than a week on Illium. Shadowing a twelve-year old on her way to school had been strangely surreal after all that cloak-and-dagger work. And she caught herself frowning when her high-powered listening probe filtered the discussion between Oriana and a schoolmate over a romance holovid they'd watched during the weekend. What would a twelve-year old know about romance? A search on the extranet took her aback when she found the holovid in question was particularly popular among teenagers. It was impossible not to contrast with her life at that age, and tentatively, she decided to just stop worrying over what her little sister should or shouldn't be watching.

A quick check of her console when Miranda arrived at her cubicle revealed that Leonov hadn't read the emails she'd sent him two days ago. That was strange.

"Is Dr. Leonov in yet?" she asked his secretary when she reached his outer office.

The woman shook her head. "Haven't seen him since the day before. He hasn't returned his calls either."

It coincided disturbingly with how she'd failed to reach him through the omni-tool over the same period of time. And she couldn't help her sense of dread growing.

"Do you know where he is?" The secretary queried anxiously. "Higher ups have been looking for him too, and I don't know how to answer them. He was acting kind of weird the last I saw him."

"What do you mean by weird?"

"Like he was in a hurry to meet some important deadline. The computer also said he came in early this morning and then left. I mean the testing _is_ over, right?"

Miranda excused herself soon after and took the opportunity to lurk nearby until she saw the secretary leave. Slipping back in, she fired up her omni-tool and bypassed the lock on the door guarding Leonov's personal office.

Nothing looked out of place. Quickly, she slipped into his chair and powered up his console. A sinking feeling began to settle into place as she found the machine devoid of all data. Leonov had done a decent job of erasing his tracks, but she was better. Within a few seconds, she'd upgraded herself to an administrator account and began digging into the underlayers of the operating system.

A flurry of deleted emails between Leonov and what she recognised as Genex's rival company caught her eye. She speed-read through the correspondence. The content detailed Leonov's sale of Genex secrets as one of the terms for his defection, a series of negotiations that had apparently taken place over the course of two months.

The last entry was two days ago, and contained appended files on the successful human tests. With a chill, she saw the research data she'd obtained from Cerberus listed in a single entry with the following text "...synthesised compounds fail to have the desired effect. I have taken preliminary steps to secure a well-hidden facility, as well as hire willing hands to enact the required scenarios, but will need a continuous supply of test subjects with biotic capabilities which I trust you can provide."

Slowly, Miranda leaned back into the chair. The room swam dizzily in her eyes and she had to swallow several times before the bout of nausea passed. After a moment, she began to laugh, softly and bitterly.

How could she be so blind? The litany went on and on in her head until she forced it to stop. There would be ample time for self recrimination later. Her cover was irrevocably blown. Tomorrow at this time, corporate security would be swarming all over the department conducting background checks, but the bulk of their attention would be focused on the office she now sat in. The final step of the mission had to be executed no later than tonight.

Except that hinged on her ability to locate Leonov. An agonising hour was spent waiting for Leonov's secretary to leave again before she could slip out of the office and the complex. Detouring to her apartment to change to operational blacks and arm herself, she made for Leonov's apartment. It was a gamble, but anything else would require marshalling Cerberus resources for a fuck up she was solely responsible for.

There were no signs of forced entry when she arrived. Quickly, she hacked the lock and thumbed off the safety catch on her weapon. The door opened to a burst of gunshots, fired to catch a standing target. She'd stayed crouched for that exact reason, and took the opportunity to dart behind an expensive sofa just as the door slid shut. Mass projectile rounds would make short work of it and she was about to make a run for a nearby metal cabinet when Leonov's head poked up from his hiding spot.

Miranda stood up and aimed her pistol at him. His eyes grew stricken as he tried to level his weapon on her. She fired a shot clean through his hand in response, causing him to collapse in howl, dropping his firearm.

"Stand up."

"Goddamnit, Esther! Why did you shoot me for? Fuck, that hurt!"

She fired another shot, scouring the carpet inches away from his face.

"I won't repeat myself."

He finally subsided into frozen silence. In the interim, she moved in and kicked his weapon away. Painfully and slowly, Leonov staggered to his feet, clutching his wounded hand close to his chest. He looked at her dazedly.

"Who are you?"

For answer, she shoved him in the direction of the dining area before depositing him on a hard chair. Holstering her weapon, she pulled out a coil of wire and proceeded to bind him.

Leonov groaned in pain at the manhandling, but she ignored him until his hands were securely tied to the armrests. Firing up her omni-tool, she positioned it in front of him to read the latest code from his body. Leonov stared at the proceedings in initial puzzlement, and then his face turned ugly.

"Who the hell _are_ you?"

She didn't bother to respond until she saw the green light appear.

"Where is the passcard for access into Genex's vaults?"

"I'm not going to tell you." Leonov said mulishly.

"You don't have a leg to stand on when it comes to upholding professional confidentiality, Dr. Leonov. Not after selling out Genex in exchange for a higher position and pay elsewhere." She aimed her pistol at his kneecap. "Would you like your figurative position to be matched by reality?"

"So you're one of Genex's security watchdogs sent to spy on me?"

Miranda narrowed her eyes. No matter how hard she suppressed it, she couldn't help her reluctant admiration at Leonov's defiance. And she hated that feeling. Her trigger finger tensed. All it took was a single wrong word from him and she wouldn't be responsible for her action.

"It doesn't matter who I work for." she stated in a clipped tone. "Again, the passcard, Doctor."

"_Fuck off._"

He screamed as the shot ripped through his knee. Panting harshly, Leonov tried to curl up as much as he could. She shoved the business end of her pistol under his chin to capture his attention before swinging it over his other knee.

"Middle drawer...on my desk." He breathed out in a thready whisper.

She walked over and pulled out a stack of access cards.

"Which is the right one?"

"The...one at the...top."

Using the wrong passcard would trigger a complex-wide alarm her virus wouldn't be able to handle. It was another potential screw-up she had no right entertaining. Leonov had begun shivering where she'd left him, a sign that shock was settling in. If he wasn't close to breaking before, he ought to be now. It all boiled down to the question: dare she trust him?

The words slipped from her mouth before she could stop them.

"Why did you lie and say you'll never use the knowledge of what my father did to me in your experiments?"

Leonov's breathing continued to fill the space, irregular and harsh.

"Why...is that surprising? I thought you'd know by now I never let go of an advantage, _Ms. Callaghan_." He coughed once before a hacking fit shook his body. After it subsided, he laughed, "And who are _you_ to talk about trust here?"

She let the full wave of his scorn wash over her. It was fitting that Leonov be the one to throw that back at her. And she welcomed the fact that that he should be the one to drive the point home. A hard-earned lesson was best learned when humiliation was at hand to make it stick.

Closing her eyes, Miranda turned away from Leonov. There was nothing else to say to him.

Firing up her omni-tool, she keyed in the code of the Cerberus cell stationed on Nos Astra and gave identification confirmation to request for an interrogation team. Chemically-assisted interrogation would verify beyond a doubt if he was speaking the truth. Armed with the right information, she could then infiltrate the vault and complete the mission objective tonight.

After that, she'd have all the time in the world to report to the Illusive Man and reflect on mistakes made. Her inability to keep Leonov at his post wasn't one of them. The man was on his way to career suicide long before she got to him. It was something she intended to make very clear.

As for the rest, it was doubtful the Illusive Man's disappointment could equal the rising tide of self-recrimination kept only at bay by her overwhelming desire to see the mission through. The bulk of that would come in due time, where she would remind herself again and again that Leonov would have never stood a chance if she hadn't given him the tools or the knowledge to compromise her in the first place.

Weakness on her part. The only solution was to make sure it never happened again.


	11. Chapter 4 Part 2

_**2195 CE, Tasmania, Earth (Present Day)**_

Corwin Leonov never held another white-collar or academic position after that, she'd made sure of it. Charged with corporate espionage and breach of trust, he'd spent most of a decade behind bars. As an end to the whole episode, she'd made personally sure the information he'd gotten from her and attempted to sell was wiped off all related databases.

Idly, Miranda wondered where Leonov was now, and then decided it wasn't something she cared about anymore. Drawing the halves of her coat closer to her body, she continued her inspection around the perimeter of the rented bungalow. The air was chilly and dry, searing her nostrils. Spring was settling in the southern hemisphere, and Tasmania had always tended to harsher winters and cooler summers, conditions a nuclear winter only made worse.

They'd settled in a quiet suburb of Queenstown, a tiny city located near the west coast of the island. Out here against the backdrop of a less cluttered horizon, the grey slate sky seemed to crush down even harder, sapping life and resolve from the place. Like everywhere else, prices on everything had sky-rocketed. It was a good thing finances was no longer one of their concerns. The bungalow they'd chosen as a base of operations had cost a bomb to rent, but it was easily-defensible with high walls and kinetic barriers already in place.

The place also came equipped with a security system, albeit civilian grade. Upgrading it to military standard was what Miranda had in mind as her practised eye took in strategic possibilities like chokepoints for trap installations and the best angles for surveillance coverage.

That was the nature of being a covert operative; acquiring certain habits along with a healthy dose of paranoia that eventually became as natural as breathing. Far worse was mental isolation that went on for months during undercover work, even beyond when she found herself unable to share work-related problems with anyone without the clearance.

As a rule, trust was chronically in short supply, and repositories for that trust even rarer. Her experience with Leonov had driven that home. The notion of any romantic liaison left a bad taste in her mouth after that. Since then, personal diversions had been few and far in between. Jacob had been a pleasant surprise, an anomaly in Cerberus's rank and file. But almost right from the start, she saw how it'd never work between them. He was a thoroughbred soldier incapable of subterfuge, an honest and idealistic man that she wished fate had spared.

The sound of the porch door sliding on its tracks made Miranda turn around. Shepard emerged holding two mugs, the aromatic whiff of authentic coffee enticing even from a distance. She accepted his offering with a murmur of thanks and cradled the mug for its welcoming warmth.

"How's the survey going? Figured out the number of cameras we'd need?" he asked conversationally.

"Not as many as I'd thought," she replied as she took a sip. He'd brewed it just right for her, dark, unmitigated by sugar or milk. "The landing pad at the back has its own surveillance. Beyond that, the clear fire zone around the compound cuts down a lot of blind spots."

"Good. That means we can stash some aside for emergencies."

They stood slightly apart, appreciating a beverage they haven't had in years. In the relative safety of the compound, Shepard had reverted to his ratty Alliance-issued pants and pullover. His blond hair and beard still took getting used to. Neither was long or thick enough to trim, which further accentuated his scruffy appearance. Coupled with that angular nose bridged by heavy brows and a wide mouth lined with lugubrious lips, it was easy to mistake him for a thug.

She studied him from the edge of her vision as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. It wasn't possible to keep from comparing him with Leonov. And that brought home how things would never have been possible between them if not for serendipity. Right from the start, they'd been uncomfortable bedfellows yoked together by hard circumstances, seeking respite from the impossible burdens of war.

She shook her head at the memory of those years in its entire bittersweet aftertaste. No, gone was gone. She had no desire to live those times again. Or the horror they entailed. Noticing her subtle disturbance, Shepard looked at her in concern.

"Is something wrong?"

Shepard's eyes were his saving grace. Deep-set and large, they were of a blue that matched hers, underpinning the animated intelligence and wide range of emotions he possessed. Similar to how the time they'd been together propelled him beyond emphatically not being her type into someone she'd been compelled to hang on to. And at the back of her mind, Miranda could only wonder if the notion of normalcy had defeated them when the threat of the Reapers failed to.

"It's nothing." She lied as she drank deeply from her mug. Inwardly, she chastened herself for thoughts she had no business entertaining. Oriana was her main concern and it'd been two weeks since the kidnapping. It'd become almost unthinkable what could happen in that time.

Unaware of her internal struggle, Shepard cleared his throat.

"How did things go at the lawyer's office by the way?"

He'd chosen not to accompany her, opting instead to remain in the shuttle during their brief stopover at Sydney. It'd partially been to avoid creating unnecessary traces of his whereabouts, and knowing him, not to further incriminate her with his presence.

"They verified my identity," she said, grateful for the distraction against spiralling thoughts. "Which means I can now step into Eldfell property legally. As well as make use of certain resources. The bulk of my inheritance is still escrowed, but I've begun the process of transferring it to an intergalactic bank."

It had stunned Miranda to realise the exact value of the assets involved. With the amount her father had left her, she could literally purchase entire planets or buy over galactic corporations. Even now, she was still reeling from the implications.

"I sold off some assets via proxy to net us some hard credits," she continued. "As for the confidential projects, I'll need to go to the tower in person to find out more. That didn't really come as a surprise. But I did manage to get detailed maps and structural blueprints of Eldfell properties around here."

As she said this, Shepard surveyed their surroundings before staring into his mug, making clear the implication that he finally understood the reason for their current luxury.

"I guess we've got you to thank for real coffee then. Among other things." he murmured.

She frowned, having the strangest feeling there was more to his words. But at this moment, a window opened and Shan poked his head out.

"Sir, ma'am? I'm done setting up the holovid projector. We can do the mission briefing now."

Shan dimmed the lights as the projector came to life. Miranda plugged in the data crystal and called up a gigantic map of western Tasmania. Manipulating the remote, she zoomed into an area of forty square kilometres around Eldfell holdings. On the lower right hand corner, she marked the location of Queenstown.

"Eldfell properties on Tasmania are primarily located on the west coast of the island. There are two, well, three focal points. This is the main tower complex which houses the research department, physics and biological labs." She clicked on the relevant spots as she explained. "The industrial complex is a kilometre away. Its primary function is to assemble mini fusion reactors for domestic use, although there're also independent fabrication plants to supply the tower with its esoteric needs."

She moved to mark another spot, triangulating the area with the tower and the industrial complex as the other two end points.

"The employee housing compound is here. It's for complex workers and personnel without the clearance to remain in the tower after office hours."

A furrow appeared between Shepard's eyes.

"I thought Eldfell-Ashland Energy specialises in eezo and nuclear energy? Why are there biological labs?"

"This is private property," Miranda explained. "My father's personal playground, where he developed projects that interested him. _I_ was created in that tower, in the tanks within the labs. It's a unique and specific enough circumstance that there can be no doubt the message was referring to them."

Shan had a look of disquiet as he digested this. In contrast, Shepard gazed at her with an undeterminable expression.

"I did mention I never had a mother." She couldn't help defending herself self-consciously.

"I know." He agreed quietly. "And I'd guess as much. It's just...never mind. Go on."

"At any rate, I've been told all existing projects have been put on hold with a small technical team left behind to maintain ongoing ones. But the tower still has its full complement of security personnel to keep riff-raff like the paparazzi out. Plus a lethal security system that functions perfectly without human intervention. While it's our eventual focal point, I don't think we'll find Oriana there."

"Sorry, ma'am, but are you saying it's not possible they'd be at the tower?"

"I don't make that claim lightly, Shan, but yes. I've heard nothing to the contrary. And there've been a good number of quietly-publicised casualties over the years, mostly from attempted intrusions. Let's just say in this case, its bite lives up to its bark."

"This means we'll be looking at the complex or the living quarters then." Shepard crossed his arms." What's the status of those?"

Miranda called up the schematics of the industrial complex and the employee housing compound.

"Parts of the complex remain in operation to maintain ongoing orders. The independent fabrication facilities and related buildings are temporarily decommissioned. Patrols there are cursory at best. The layoff also means that up to half of the houses in the living compound are empty."

"Sounds like prime hiding spots." Shepard mused. "And good places to scout tomorrow."

"The complex will require two people to cover. Think you can handle the housing compound, Shan?" Miranda asked. "I've come up with the clearance and a cover identity for you to snoop around."

"It should be fine, ma'am." Shan hesitated. "But what makes you so sure they'll be at one of those two places?"

"Because we've established it's a trap that's meant to be sprung. If the tower is out of bounds, there's a good chance they'd have to lie in wait at the next most plausible location."

"But what if they aren't at either location?"

Shepard laughed and then lowered his brows in a predatory grin.

"Feeling lucky? Want to back it up on the table?"

Shan shot him a dubious look. In the past few days, Miranda had looked on with concealed amusement as both men whittled their free time on poker games with Shepard consistently clearing house.

"Face!" Shepard barked drill instructor-style.

Immediately, Shan's expression turned appropriately blank.

"Cut it out, both of you. Or I'm rescinding poker rights." She declared, knowing full well her smile made it an empty threat. Both Shepard and Shan grinned like little boys caught sharing a harmless secret.

"Finding Oriana is priority." she reminded them when the moment passed. "I hope she _is_ in one of those two places. If not, I have every intention to use my access to the tower to draw the perp out." She switched on her omni-tool. "Shan, I'm sending you the official occupancy list. Start off with a house-to-house search. Keep a low profile and report if you find an anomaly."

"Gotcha, ma'am. I'll go finalise our supplies now."

Watching Shan disappear into the back of the bungalow, Miranda called up the industrial complex blueprint and motioned Shepard closer.

"The decommissioned area is located on the east side. We should make a two-pronged approach, infiltrate from the north and east, sweep the place and meet somewhere in the middle."

"What do those overlapping lines signify?"

"Which?"

He reached across to take the remote from her, making her heart skip a beat.

"These ones," he pointed out on the map. "Criss-crossing all the buildings."

"It's an anti-grav tube system for material transportation. The whole thing works as one system so it's live throughout the complex."

There was a glint in his eyes.

"Interesting. What's inside these storage areas?" The cursor moved to highlight a series of compartmentalised boxy buildings near the north side.

"Spare esoteric parts for the tower apparently."

He glanced at her, a roguish quirk to his mouth.

"Feeling lucky?"

She raised an amused eyebrow.

"Are you saying they'll be in the storage areas?"

"Large, open areas make for uncomfortable living spaces. Not to mention poor strategic options." Shepard scratched his beard thoughtfully. "They'll need somewhere to hold Oriana too. Don't think they'd waste time or risk exposure creating makeshift quarters when they can use existing facilities."

"And there'll be the fear that bunking inside a fabrication plant could blow up in your face. I get the reasoning. But I won't be so quick to make that bet. There's a series of storage facilities on the west side. We can't discount those."

"Hence your two-pronged approach," he echoed in understanding.

"That's right. I'll take the east side and head westward. You do the north-south sweep. Hopefully, we'll find them and then decide on our options after that."

He nodded as his eyes narrowed, committing map details to memory.

"Sounds good." He gestured at the dining table filled half-assembled electronic parts. "If we're done, I'd like to finish up with the camera assembly and sit on the details a bit."

The living room lights came on, and Miranda stood torn between assisting Shan and her concern for Shepard. She couldn't help but notice how within the span of a few seconds, he'd had turned subdued again. She was never the gambling sort, but her bet would've been on the extensive devastation they saw on their way here. The sight of endless wastelands and gutted cities had been sobering and she could only imagine what he felt seeing the consequences of the decisions made during the war.

And then there was that invisible wall that'd fallen between them since New Calcutta. In recent days, she'd become aware of a growing tension in their interactions. Maybe it was the build-up, knowing that they were nearing their objective. It grated her to the point where she wished she knew what it was. Perhaps the only way to find out was to plunge right in.

"You ought to give Shan a break. In your poker games." She said as she sat down on the opposite side of the narrow table. "Anything I can do to help?"

He looked up from threading a piece of a wire through a metal plate, and handed over another strand from the small pile.

"Could use more of the same length. And where's the fun if I give in to him?"

"He didn't ask to be here in the first place," she reminded him lightly as she unravelled wire from the main coil. "And you can be such a bully sometimes."

"Yes, ma'am," he murmured and then subsided into silence.

Suppressing her irritation, Miranda tried another tack.

"Don't _you_ get started. Having Shan call me that all the time is bad enough."

"Well, you _are_ in charge of this mission." Shepard pointed out diffidently. "But sorry, can't help you there. I've given up trying to stop him calling me 'sir' myself".

It was probably the best opening she was going to get.

"I can see why it'd be hard for him to make the change. He isn't the only one," she set down the coil of wire to clasp her hands. "John, have you thought of what you're going to do once this—mission is over?"

Fingers paused in mid-motion, he lifted his head to study her.

"I recall you asking me that before." he finally said.

"Which you failed to answer honestly," she pointed out evenly. "And we can both agree the question is no longer an academic exercise."

"I can't remain on Earth, that's for sure." Shepard muttered as he resumed work. "Nor do I want to. And we've established I haven't got a green thumb. Apart from that, I don't think I'll find welcome in any human-governed world anymore." She winced inwardly when he shook his head as if to rid of bad memories. "What about you? What are _your_ plans?"

She was slightly taken aback to have that question returned at her.

"I'll be resigning my commission with the Alliance, I think," she said after some thought. "Like you, Earth has lost its meaning for me. It used to be I wanted to stay as far away as possible from my father." Plucking a strand of wire, she began straightening it out idly. "I suppose I've just been gone for too long. None of that is relevant now, like our little holiday in New Canton."

Shepard lowered his head, his hands slowly clenching on the metal plate until his knuckles were white with tension.

"Was New Canton just a holiday to you?" He asked in a deceptively mild voice.

Suddenly, Miranda wished she could retract her words. That disquiet came in the wake of realisation over the growing unease between them. Apparently, sexual dormancy finally waved the white flag after a little more than a month of simmering tensions. It was like back on the _Normandy_ again—high-stress situations plus constant interaction. The feeling was familiar, except this time, aggravated several times by their familiarity with each other and years of enforced abstinence.

The room suddenly felt too small, too hot.

Abruptly, she rose and made a beeline for the porch door and the cold air beyond.

Shepard emerged a few minutes later, but thankfully, kept a respectful distance. Evening was settling in, belied by the false brightness the grey-slate sky brought about. Rising a mind-boggling two kilometres above the flat rolling plains that characterised this part of Tasmania, the Eldfell Tower was visible even from this distance.

Miranda crossed her arms and inclined her head at the hazy silhouette.

"I jumped off the top of that tower at sixteen. It was the only way to escape from my father's control. I used my biotics to slow down my descent, biotics surgically grafted into my body over a period of one year. And that was after undergoing intensive retroactive genetic modifications for other enhancements. Each bout of 'treatment' so debilitating I had to spend a month recovering before they put me under again."

She delivered all this in a clipped and clinical tone, like giving a weather update. A glance revealed Shepard listening intently with a serious expression.

"What struck me is these last two weeks have shown how little we know about each other. And I'm not just referring to what happened during the war."

"There was never much time or opportunity for all that before." His quiet voice drifted in. "What we're doing right now—I want to think it _is_ making a difference."

"But is it too little too late? Look at us. We can't even talk to each other without stumbling over closet skeletons."

The sound of his footsteps heralded his presence beside her. With irritation, she forced her eyes not to linger on breath of his shoulders, or the movement of his throat as he swallowed.

"I'm done with secrets, Miranda." He crossed his arms, which didn't help her concentration one bit either. "I'm not about to give up, even if I have to stub every toe getting there. It's clear we've both changed and if we have to start from square one, I'm fine with that. The question is are you?"

"That's doesn't change the fact that the trust between us is gone. What's to stop us from choosing what to say and what to hide because it's convenient?" She countered in deep frustration. "Like why on earth didn't you tell me about your problems in the first place?"

A brief sigh was all her warning before Shepard stepped across her vision to lay hands on her shoulders.

"I want you to answer this truthfully." He looked at her intently. "Were my fears groundless? That if you were to know I'm waiting to go on trial, a trial that could drag for years, with lifetime imprisonment at the end of it—you'd up and leave?"

She tore her stunned gaze away.

"I—I don't know."

"Don't know, or don't want to answer?"

"I don't know." Miranda repeated, shaking her head.

Slowly, almost regretfully, she felt his hands slip off to fall to his sides. She took the chance to step back, put a distance between them.

"The truth is if you'd asked me ten years ago, I'd have said you are right. But now—I can't answer that question."

It was singularly the scariest confession she'd made. But he deserved it no matter that she still had trouble reconciling personally.

"How could I have known?" Shepard's sigh seemed to come from a great distance. "Look, I know I'm not making a good case for myself here, but if truth is prelude to building trust again, you'll get it from me."

And with that, the ball was in her court. There were no guarantees, but that had always been the case between them. It used to be she could always take Shepard at his word. Until the very last. And now that he'd laid out his fears, she found that she couldn't in good faith blame him.

But it wasn't enough. Not after he'd knocked down one of the constants of their relationship.

"Tell me, did the notion you'll be escaping from going on trial if you helped me come up at all?"

He didn't flinch from her piercing gaze.

"It did. But only after I made up my mind. I still can't say if it's right or wrong. All I know is I'm ready to accept the consequences. But that's neither here nor there, they've got nothing to do with why I chose to come."

"So why did you come?"

He ducked his head and seemed to take inordinate interest in the scruff marks on his boots.

"Because I can't stand by and do nothing when you're in need." He finally looked up in pained shyness. "Not after what I said."

Embarrassed, Miranda turned away.

No one should have to undergo a confession like that. And she couldn't help but be moved. Shepard had a charm of his own but subtlety was nowhere in the mix. He bludgeoned rather than coaxed, displaying flashes of naivety and idealism that'd both vexed and amused her. Yet despite his talent at rousing, sometimes wince-worthy speeches, what always stayed with her was the way actions spoke the loudest for him.

Perhaps that was no longer true. On her part, she couldn't help her own trip down memory lane, back to the person she'd been. Things were so clear cut then. A transgression was to be meted out by zero tolerance. Neither regret nor second chances had a place or relevance in her life. Somewhere along the line, that changed for her. Maybe her faith that he hadn't lost those qualities was another one of those changes. Did she dare trust herself to act on that newfound faith?

"No more assumptions or preconceptions. We can't afford those anymore. But let's make one thing clear: this has no place until Oriana is safe. I won't compromise on that."

"Of course." He thrust his hands into his pant pockets. "And thank you."

She didn't trust herself so she gave an awkward jerk of a nod.

"I ought to get back to work. Cameras don't assemble themselves."

Shepard turned to head back in. At the last moment, she reached out to grab his arm. He raised his brows in enquiry.

"I... I'm glad you're here. It makes things that much easier."

He smiled acknowledgement and slipped past her. In the passage of his wake, she finally allowed herself to breath in the masculine scent of his body and relish how it set her extremities tingling.


	12. Chapter 4 Part 3

The crack of dawn came now with a whimper rather than a bang. In the bitingly-cold predawn light, Shepard guided the shuttle over the Tasmanian west coast, dropping Shan quietly on the outskirts of the housing compound. Their transport now sat hidden behind a gentle rise of tussock one kilometre away from here.

_Here_ was the eastern side of the complex, marking the start of the scouting mission. Effortlessly, Shepard scaled the perimeter fence, dropping neatly on the other side.

"Comm-check." He whispered into his visor's mouthpiece as he ran swiftly along the length of the fence, making a beeline for the cover of the nearest building.

"_Loud and clear_," came Miranda's voice over the encrypted channel. "_I'm on mark_."

"Proceed," he confirmed, and then added cheerfully, "First one to hit jackpot gets to play rearguard. I _know_ how much you hate taking point."

"_You arse_." Her laughter sounded briefly across the channel. "_Eyes on the job now_."

"Yes, ma'am."

With spirits far higher than he'd felt in a long time, Shepard thumbed the safety off his pistol and SMG before re-holstering them. She was right, the mission came first. And it was an entirely different feeling he brought into the job now, a feeling boosted by awareness that things weren't so bleak, that there was light at the end of the tunnel.

Reaching up to the side of his visor, Shepard switched the power on. Micro-layers of holographic projection flashed to life within the tight band across both his eyes. The targeting system drew thin lines across his vision, keeping obstruction to the minimal. He keyed in a few more commands, setting up the thresholds of the smart system to monitor electromagnetic and infrared bandwidths. The micro computer would warn him if there are abnormalities beyond the parameters he'd designated.

Assured that all systems were green, he began a brisk jog across the road leading to the east gate. The gate itself was shut and the guardhouse unmanned. Narrow corridors branched off between closely-spaced buildings here. Between running across open spaces and these, Shepard knew which he preferred, except these corridors were ripe places for ambush, not to mention random encounters. He looked up and decided to take another tack. Climbing the ladder attached to a helium-3 fuel tank, he peered cautiously over the roof ledge of the adjacent building before heaving himself onto it.

This part of the complex comprised mostly of low-slung buildings with sloping tiled roofs. The occasional fuel and chemical tank broke the monotone, rising like steel pillars over what was otherwise a uniformed landscape. There was one good thing about the overcast sky overhead—less likelihood of strong shadows being thrown.

"I'm top-side now. Safer. Suggest you do the same." He whispered into the mouth piece as he tested his weight before running along the apex of the roof at a crouch-run.

"_Good move. I'll do that too_."

The roof seemed solid and his footsteps made no discernable noises or compression on the material. A check of his omni-tool said this was an accelerator plant. The building stretched out fifty metres in length towards the south, sizable enough that it featured sky lights at regular intervals. It meant he didn't need to hit the ground to check the interior.

Stopping before the middle skylight, Shepard glanced in just off the edge. The view was blurry, obstructed by dust and grime. He retrieved a glass-cutter and carefully made a circular hole five centimetres in diameter. Next, he attached a flexible extension that came with his visor and inserted it through the opening.

Nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary. The sight that greeted his eyes was a plant in shutdown. All the machinery was housed on the ground level, a gantry walkway hugged the edges of the building with occasional bridges that ran across the space in the middle. Big windows paned with frosted glass allowed natural light into the structure. Just as he was about to move on, a shadow flashed past the frosted window on the south side.

Twenty five metres to the end of the building. A dash was the only way to catch anything. Shepard fired up the eezo nodules in his nervous system, causing blue waves to flicker his body. Reducing his mass to about half of normal, he sprinted. The reduction in weight helped reduce noise. Ten metres before the drop off, he slid on his stomach until he came to a stop.

Human voices could be heard. Two men by the sound of it. Slowly, Shepard inched towards the edge. A button on his visor brought up the infra-red, and he watched until the two burning brands walked pass before peeking over. Their armour suggested refinery patrol, but patrols were supposed to be cursory at best around here. Another button amplified the auditory function.

"—_cold as a hanar's ass here. Wish I can get off this god-forsaken planet_."

"_Like it's better anywhere else in the galaxy_."

It wasn't so much the content but their accents that raised his hackles. The off-world colonist inflection was unmistakeable. The two men took a turning and left his line of sight. He cursed silently as their images wavered and then dissipated on the infrared spectrum. A look down the sloping roof revealed a three metre gap that separated the accelerator plant from what was marked a ceramic fabrication facility. The antigrav transportation tube that criss-crossed the entire complex traversed the two buildings here, but braced on metre-high struts, it was tantalisingly out of reach. He had to make the break for it if he wanted to keep the patrol in his sights.

Dark energy limned his body as Shepard stood up and made a running leap. There was the danger that his lowered mass might cause him to overshoot the mark, and in the flash of a second, that fear became reality.

Thanks to biotics, he landed almost soundlessly, but then skidded and slid across the roof apex before descending down the slope on the other side. A quick application of a reverse field slowed that progress, but it wasn't enough. The drop came up in an impossibly short time. Shepard flung his arms wide to catch hold of something, anything. His fingers found one of the struts bracing the antigrav tube, caught it and then lost his grip. But it arrested his momentum, leaving only his legs to swing in empty space. Carefully, he reached out to grip the strut firmly and with some difficulty, heaved his lower torso back up and away from the edge.

Thankfully, no alarm was raised. Shepard scanned the vicinity, hoping to catch the patrol but found nothing. In frustration, he keyed open the comm-channel.

"Looks like I win this one. Patrol of two heading your way. Destination unknown. They don't sound like locals. Can you get over here?"

"_Tracking you_." Miranda's voice returned over the channel. "_I'm going to check that storage facility to the west first. ETA twenty minutes_."

His earpiece went dead as he realised he would have to hit the ground to find out where that patrol went. Just as he was making last minute recalibrations to his visor, he heard new footsteps. Once again, infrared picked up two new targets on the south-west side. This time however, they turned directly southwards and then entered a building. Finally, a lead.

The building in question was one of the storage areas defined in last night's briefing. No skylights for convenient spying this time. Going down to the ground seemed to be the obvious choice, but if his suspicion came true, he'd risk exposing himself and further endangering Oriana.

Shepard surveyed the layout of the building he was on. The map said it was a plastics processing plant, an L-shaped complex with the west wing that seemed to be linked to the storage complex. He was too far away to be sure. Running along the apex of the roof, he took the turn to find they were indeed connected at the ground level.

But what was more interesting was the small grimy window inset into the middle of the northern wall of the storage facility, right below the ceiling supporting arch. He would have to hang in mid-air to look through that window, but there was a low likelihood of detection unless whoever walked along the side path below looked up at the wrong moment. Shepard decided to take the chance. Jumping lightly across two roofs, he retrieved rappelling equipment and quickly rigged up a harness. Easing down to the level of the window through careful release of the control rope, he braced his right leg securely against the cross-beams of the structure to keep his shadow from falling into the window.

Extending his eyepiece, Shepard looked into the interior of a double-storied, high-ceilinged warehouse with multiple cordoned rooms. The second storey seemed to be made of thick metal plating, accessed by at least two skeletal steel staircases visible from his vantage. A cursory count amounted to at least twenty rooms within the facility, fifteen on the ground floor, five more upstairs. But what was more immediately relevant was the movement within.

He spent several minutes counting the number of people inside. At first, he thought his eyes were tricking him, but as the seconds tick by, disbelief was shoved away by outraged certainty. Shepard breathed softly through clenched teeth, and it took him a while to register movement in his peripheral vision. He snapped his pistol out in a smooth motion and aimed it at the edge of the opposite roof.

"_It's me_. _Sorry about that, couldn't see where you went_," came Miranda's voice through the earpiece.

He breathed a sigh of relief.

"Do me a favour? Keep a lookout at the start of the path beside us."

"_On it._"

Miranda appeared on the slope of the opposite roof and gave him a nod before she leaped over and disappeared from his line of sight. He redirected his attention to his visor readout. It was definitely a merc group in disguise, judging by the weapons they carried. No security guard would be equipped with SMGs or assault rifles. And if he had to put a name to them, he'd say Blue Suns. They were exclusively humans, and judging by the frequency of two-men patrols going in and out, he was looking at a platoon—thirty to fifty individuals at least.

"_Heads up. Patrol coming this way._"

Quickly, Shepard hoisted himself up and removed all traces of his passage before easing away from the edge. Miranda joined him in that time and he put a finger to his lip. They stopped only when they reached the middle of the roof, squatting down and putting their heads together to confer in low tones.

"It's Kai Leng," he said. "With at least several squads of mercs under his payroll. Blue Suns, I think. Found anything in the other storage facility?"

"No. It's empty." Her face took on a worried quality. "Are you sure it's Kai Leng?"

He nodded heavily.

Kai Leng had come their way shortly before the onset of the Reaper war, seeking asylum from the Alliance after Cerberus fell apart. His role as the Illusive Man's right-hand man and personal assassin only came to light when Aria, de facto ruler of Omega ferreted out his culpability in her daughter's murder. From there, the cascade began as his various misdeeds came to light. Shepard was rarely wrong when it came to making personnel judgement, and Kai Leng stood out in that very short list of failures. The confrontation that finally landed him in the hands of the Alliance had been costly, an episode neither of them would ever forget.

"If Kai Leng is involved, then there's a chance he may think kidnapping Oriana is a good way to lure me here." Shepard said quietly. "Thanks to the extranet, our relationship isn't exactly a secret."

"Stop jumping to conclusions. We don't know that yet."

"But we can't dismiss that possibility. If that's part of his grand plan, I swear he'll _fucking_ pay."

Slowly, he became aware that her hand was on his shoulder. Miranda peered at him in concern until his eyes focused on her.

"You don't know that." She repeated gently. "Don't forget he had no love for me either."

He grunted acknowledgement, belated awareness catching up on how she was counselling him over a situation that affected her far more personally.

"You're right. And it doesn't matter why he's here, the important thing is we know he is."

Resting one knee against the roof surface, Miranda's brows angled towards a deep furrow.

"If merc activity is as concentrated as you say, Oriana is likely below us." She slapped a fist against her thigh in frustration. "Damn it, I'm tempted to go in now, but Kai Leng _is_ a complication."

Shepard could still feel the heat on his face. And now that his head was clear, he was suddenly afraid that she'd fall into the same trap. He reached for her hand to grip it.

"We _will_ find her and we _will_ get her out. But right now, we've got to leave, pick Shan up and then formulate a rescue plan. We're going to need the extra firepower."

Miranda returned his hand squeeze and then said grimly, "Lead on."

-~o~-

As an only child, Oriana had been the centre of her adopted parents' universe. It was a position cemented by getting just about anything she wanted. If and when she met with resistance, she could always count on being able to whittle away at their resolve, capitalising on their love for her to get her way.

Their little tyrant, they dubbed her affectionately. To her credit, she did her best to reciprocate and return their love. But ever since she'd learned that she was adopted, a new goal had insinuated itself into the impossible long list of life-goals she'd drawn up. 'Find my biological parents' came in just below 'become a terraformer'. It'd been a frustrating exercise, and the break when it finally came, turned out to be a feast on a platter delivered by Miranda walking up to her in that Illium spaceport.

Miranda probably thought they could just maintain a distant relationship. She had dispelled that notion by sending Shepard a note of thanks. It'd been an implicit message to her older sister: "I'll find you no matter how hard you try to shake me off".

Curiosity and tenacity was something both of them shared. And once again, it'd come to Oriana's rescue. Two weeks of imprisonment without an end in sight would've reduced most people to gibbering wrecks. For her, it'd proven a ripe chance to get under Cordelia's skin and learn what made her tick.

"So tell me, what's life been like for you?" Oriana asked conversationally when the other woman arrived to yet again deposit another meal tray.

Those blue eyes that studied her hadn't gained any warmth. But despite her animosity, Cordelia had kept coming back to participate in a decided skewed dialogue that often left Oriana chatting to fill the silence.

"With Cerberus?"

Oriana shrugged carefully. The past two weeks had taught her which hot button issues to avoid. Although after that fateful first encounter Cordelia had been surprisingly candid about the abuses she'd suffered under that organisation.

"I've actually heard more than enough about Cerberus, thank you very much. What about kicking ass around the galaxy? You said you've done some of that, or is there something else you want to talk about?"

"Why would you care what I want to talk about?"

The other woman was prone to passive-aggressive outbursts, but given what Oriana knew now, she couldn't exactly blame her.

"I was an only child," she explained as she sat on the bunk, idly pulling stray threads from the bedsheet. "I _knew_ I was adopted. Knowing that, I couldn't help but build these fantasies about my biological parents. And wonder about who they were, why did they abandon me, yada yada yada—the whole nine yards, y'know."

Cordelia laughed as she leaned beside the door in her customary location.

"And then you find out you never had a mother and your father was an egomaniac who saw you as an asset rather than a daughter."

"Well, that's one way to put it." Oriana said judiciously. "But I did salvage one biological connection from the whole mess. Granted, it was a shock knowing I have an older sister, one who kept a lookout for my welfare all these years."

Cordelia looked at her in wonder.

"You really worship the ground she walks on, don't you?"

"Whoa, whoa, wait a minute! How did you come to that conclusion?" Oriana's eyes widened. "My point is it _was_ weird find someone out there who's an exact copy of me, but led a totally different life. It makes me wonder what the kind of person I could be if I hadn't been adopted," she decided to take a new tack here. "Don't you wonder that sometimes?"

The other woman pursed her lips.

"No."

"And why's that?" Oriana persisted with her cheery tone.

"Because I don't have the luxury to indulge in flights of fantasy." Cordelia surveyed the spartan holding cell cursorily. "This is all I know. And this is all I have. There's no place for self-delusional banalities."

"How can they be self-delusional if you've never known better? Everyone's entitled to a normal life, even you. And right now, it doesn't sound like you're living at all." Oriana pointed out. "Not everything needs to be about revenge. Hell, it's got to be tiring holding on to all that rage all the time. Have you even wondered what you're going to do after this is over?"

Again, that trademark false smile.

"That would depend on getting what I want at the end of all this, wouldn't it? Until then, there's no point dwelling on what-ifs."

Oriana hesitated. She hadn't dared to broach the subject of why Cordelia wanted to get at Miranda so badly. And with every passing day, she became more and more conflicted. It was a given that Miranda would do her best to get here, but at the same time, she was stricken with worry over her older sister walking into a snake's nest, outnumbered and outgunned. She decided to bite. Fat chance she'd glean anything useful, but it was far better than being left in the dark.

"What do you hope to get out of this? Why do you hate Miri so much?"

Cordelia stared into space, her eyes losing focus.

"Perhaps I'm wrong. Perhaps I _am_ living in someone's sick notion of a fantasy world. While I was being used as a lab rat among other things, where was she? Basking in the glory of being one of Cerberus's most trusted operatives. And when the hammer came down hard, she got off with a light rap on the knuckles. A forced stint with the Alliance ends up with the galaxy seeing her as a war hero." She laughed, and then directed her gaze at Oriana. "But that's just water off a duck's back for you, isn't it?"

Oriana stopped her thread-pulling and returned the look directly.

"I can't say I share your views. But I can see why you'd feel that way. And while I may envy Miri for her accomplishments, I also know that she went through a whole load of crap for them. Karmic balance doesn't just swing one way, y'know. Besides, she's severed all ties with Cerberus long before the Alliance caught up with them. She's got nothing you would want."

"Is that what she tells you? And all these years, you've never thought to seek a second opinion?" Cordelia retorted and then immediately asked, "Do you know where we are right now?"

Oriana frowned.

"Is that a trick question or what?"

"Let's take a walk, shall we?"

Saying that, Cordelia took her by the arm, not ungently, and keyed the door unlock.

It wasn't Oriana's first foray out. She had been allowed bathroom and shower breaks, as well as changes of clothing. The experience could be worse, she told herself to keep her spirits up. This was despite how any hope of escape was dashed by the sheer number of mercenaries she saw stationed outside. She could only hope that Miranda and Shepard knew the odds they were facing.

None of the mercs paid her any heed now as Cordelia propelled her through the warehouse main door. The sky was hazy and overcast, and the cold bit through the over-sized fatigues she'd been issued. Close by, a humongous tower rose like an Egyptian obelisk, a black spire that pierced through the floor of clouds. The base must stretch at least a hundred metres across, except rolling hills obscured all of it.

Oriana crossed her arms to keep warm as she surveyed the structure.

"Is that the tower you're looking to access?"

"Do you know why?"

"No, but I assume once you're done gloating over my ignorance as always, you'll tell me," she couldn't help but snap.

Cordelia looked at her in surprise and then laughed.

"Touché. Maybe a lecture's more to your taste? _That_ is Eldfell Tower, the place where it all began. You were born in the labs up there. All the genetic blueprints, records of the number of clones created, where they are, what they are doing now—in short, the sum of a mad man's genetic dynasty—is locked up in there. And all of that, plus the complex we're holed up in, belong to your dear sister now."

"You're lying," Oriana growled. "Our father has demonstrated time after time he'd stop at nothing to get the both of us back. He's a mad man because there's no reasoning with him. And that's why he'll never pull a one-eighty after all these years."

"Aiken Eldfell is dead. Six months ago from the Reaper strikes." Cordelia returned harshly. "In the final version of his will, he bequeathed his entire fortune to Miranda Lawson, the prodigal daughter who defied him until the last. Doesn't that strike you as odd? Or how she never mentioned a single word to you?"

"She might have if you hadn't kidnapped me in the first place. Besides, I've never wanted anything to do with him. None of this changes that." But her words sounded hollow to her ears.

As if picking up on that, Cordelia lifted a brow.

"So you have no interest at all in what's inside that tower?"

The relief Oriana ought to feel knowing that she's finally free of her father was replaced by numbness instead. It was the culmination of a whirlwind of emotions that she didn't need. There was no reason to believe that anything Cordelia said was true. But as the pieces fell one by one, they clicked together in such a satisfying way that just made her cringe.

She shook her head firmly, knowing full well what she needed was time to digest all this.

"I can't change my origins, but they aren't the only thing that defines me. And I've learned that sometimes, some things are just better off buried."

With effort, she tore her eyes away from the immutable monolith and turned around to make her way back to the warehouse. Only to bump into Kai Leng. He grabbed her arm in a vice-like grip, not caring about her gasp of pain.

"Get in. One of the men reported seeing something." He addressed Cordelia without preamble.

"Saw something? Would it be another false alarm like last week? Shaking down a civilian security guard who happened to meander from his patrol route?"

"You've never seen them in action. "Something" is just about the level of warning I expect to get. And the time window is right."

He ignored Oriana even as she made a concerted effort to pry his hand off. She hated Kai Leng with a vengeance. It was irrational, but she'd bet her life he was the type who'd kick an enemy lying on the ground just because he could. His muscles were rock-hard, but she was no slouch either.

He shook her like a dog with a snarl of irritation.

"Lay off, Kai Leng." Cordelia's sharp rebuke checked him.

"Feeling sympathetic already?" He didn't even make the effort to hide the taunt.

"There's no point to torture or ill-treatment without benefit."

He sketched an ironic bow and half-pulled Oriana along. Cordelia followed close behind.

It was frustrating knowing that she could do nothing to even the odds, and the obsessive glean that came to Cordelia's eyes did nothing to reassure Oriana. If only she had more time, she railed inwardly, time to convince the other woman to stop this madness. The more Oriana knew about Cordelia, the more it saddened her that life never gave her the chance she herself had been granted. And now everything was about to go the way of the trash-compactor.

"What happens when they come?" Oriana asked in trepidation, finally remembering to care for her own wellbeing. "What happens to me then?"

"I take back what's mine. And eliminate all competition." The other woman's smile returned, dazzling and cold. "Including you."


	13. Chapter 4 Part 4

They'd decided unanimously that the east gate where Shepard first entered from was the fastest way back to the landing zone. With him in the lead, they ran lightly along the roof apex of the L-shape building Miranda's omnitool identified as a light plastics processing plant. The buildings in this part of the complex were uniformly two-storied, and the view totally unobstructed. As Miranda was about to learn, it was both a blessing and a curse.

As they reached the junction between the two wings, a shadow emerged on the south eastern side and materialised into the shape of a man climbing onto the roof. She dropped flat with a hiss and ahead of her, Shepard followed suit immediately. In unison, they rolled off the apex over to the obscured side.

"Shit." Shepard's curse carried across in a harsh whisper. "I must've slipped up while checking that storage facility."

"It could've been me." She countered as she extended her visor eyepiece to slip it over the edge of the pinnacle. Through the cross-hair, she saw the figure conduct a cursory sweep and then slowly clambered down out of sight again.

"He's gone. They probably saw something, but not enough to raise a full-scale alarm."

"That won't last. Roofs are no longer an option. No place to hide." Shepard muttered as he fired up his omni-tool. "The building below links to both the storage facility and the ceramic plant where I came from. Beyond that is the accelerator building. It's twenty metres to the east gate from there."

Miranda shook her head, even though she knew he couldn't see it.

"If it's linked, they're likely crawling through every inch of it right now."

"So we don't go in. But the longer we stay here, the worse it'll get."

The familiar signs of dark energy outlined Shepard as he rolled down the roof and off the edge.

"_Clear._" His voice transmitted through her earpiece. She imitated his stunt, landing soundlessly in the narrow passageway sandwiched by two buildings. Automatically, she switched her visor to infrared, and made a sound of frustration when the bandwidth flickered with harsh interference.

"Something with electromagnetism around these parts," Shepard said in a low tone, understanding her problem immediately. "At least their scanners won't be working either."

Gripping his pistol in one hand, he began to run northward towards a T-junction. The right turn would take them to the accelerator plant, and Shepard went down that direction. Just as they were closing in on the end of the path, footsteps made them stop short. Their location was perfect for an ambush, but totally untenable when the objective was to stay undetected. There were no niches, nowhere to hide.

Quickly, Shepard holstered his weapon and slapped his palms together, extending his knee to give her a leg up. She took his offer in grave alacrity, pulling herself onto the roof. Reaching down, she grabbed his arm in a twin-lock, thankful for the fact that his biotics made him light enough for her to hoist him up one-handed.

It wasn't a moment too soon. Two shadows crossed the place they stood before, and then disappeared northwards.

Miranda counted to ten between gritted teeth before whispering, "Bloody hell. They're heading for the east gate. With the distance separating the fence and the buildings, all it takes is one man to watch that entire stretch."

Shepard pursed his lips and surveyed their surroundings. The monotone of featureless roofs was broken by the anti-grav tube which criss-crossed the buildings here, running east-west. Even through thick interference, it registered as a bright red streak on infrared.

"Can the tubes get us out of here?" he asked.

She consulted her omni-tool.

"There's a shuttle landing pad and an open storage area the system goes out to on the north side. The nearest entrance is the packaging facility. There," She pointed at the adjacent building. "The service door is at the southern face."

"Let's leg it."

It was easier said than done. They had to wait for the wake of another passing patrol to make the dash. Thankfully, it went off without a hitch and the facility was empty. The link-up to the tube system was underground here, guarded by twin steel sliding doors. As Miranda went forward to hack the doors open, Shepard made a quick tour of the place. It was filled to the brim with a bewildering range of shipping containers, from foot-long snap-up plastic boxes to metal canisters taller than a man. Shrink-wrap and weighing stations, along with shock-absorbing gel dispensers lined half a wall.

He returned to her side as she got the doors to open onto a short passageway that ended in a square hole in the ground. An inspection revealed twin chambers below marked with arrows indicating the direction objects dropped into each would travel. Mass effect fields ran through the entire system, generating weightlessness in the tubes. Counter-currents served to push objects along. The system worked by attaching an electronic tag with a destination code to an item, which was scanned by sensors within the tubes. The item would then be allocated a travel path that took it to its intended destination. It was similar to systems used to move luggage and goods in space ports.

"Left is right and right is left." Shepard muttered. "Which one do we take?"

"That's pretty apt actually. The whole route makes a big circle." Miranda explained. "It's a fifteen-minute trip if we take the left chamber. One hour and ten for the right."

"Left it is. Not a good idea to jump straight into that current, yeah?"

She shook her head.

"It only works with designated containers. A system-wide alarm also goes off if unprotected biological matter falls in."

"Right, I'll go scrounge up something for us to hide in then."

As he did that, she made her way to the administration desk. It took a few minutes rummaging through the clutter to locate the tag box. Consulting a datapad gave her the destination code she wanted. She punched in the final number as Shepard carefully rolled a man-size metal cylinder through the doors.

Miranda eyed the shipping container critically as the doors slid shut, sealing them in the small space.

"Bit small, don't you think?"

"It's the biggest thing out there," he shrugged. "If you don't want to share, I _could_ get one each for us to ride in."

She looked at him askance, but he simply waited for her decision with raised brows.

"No," she decided firmly. "Pointless courting more trouble."

Slapping the tag on the exterior, she gripped the edge of the cylinder and slid in on her back. Shepard joined her in gingerly motions, fully aware that he was resting his entire weight on her.

"Sorry," he muttered as he pulled the lid extension to cover the opening. The contraption shut with a neat click.

"Okay, let's roll this baby in."

Shepard's weight abruptly disappeared even as null-g hit Miranda with its stomach-churning effect as they dropped into the chamber. She swallowed several times to accustom herself to the experience, one made worse by the fact that it was pitch-black. For a moment, she had to fight visceral panic at the sensory deprivation. Then she felt Shepard move against her, and heard the sound of his fingers struggling with something on the lid. Crimson lighting flooded the interior as he finally got the small inspection slot open.

She breathed an involuntary sigh of relief. And with that, some of urgency that had been plaguing her drained away. They were sitting ducks for now, but there was also very little chance that they'd be discovered.

"Better?"

In the dim light, she could see the bemused expression on his face.

"Don't suppose you brought poker cards?"

"No such luck," he quipped back in mock glumness. "I'd suggest a round of mental chess. But you'd just whoop my ass."

"I can only do that _if_ you have patience for chess in the first place," she pointed out.

"Ouch." He grinned. "Guess I left myself wide open to that one, didn't I?"

"Among other things." She agreed blandly and then sighed. "So we wait."

"One of us could get out and push."

"Mm... In that case, I volunteer you for the job."

"With you shouting directions from a black box? Sounds like a raw deal."

"Raw deal for who?" she teased and added slyly, "Strike two."

"Bully."

A deep silence, broken by the low hum of the system filled the small space. And small it was. Gradually, Miranda became aware that Shepard had braced his hands against the opposite surface to keep from bumping into her, but at the same time effectively trapping her head and shoulders in between. He kept his head bowed to one side. Even so, his breathing disturbed the fine hair on her cheek, and made her intensely aware of sweat-tinged scent of his body.

Her first hint that he was similarly aware of her own body came when he lifted his head to rest it against his shoulder, studiously avoiding eye contact the whole time. The angle only served to give her a clear view of the muscles playing on his neck as he swallowed convulsively.

"You saw this coming," she accused through a throat suddenly gone dry.

He turned to look at her, the planes of his face accentuated by the directional lighting. In the dimness, his pupils were dilated, dark with purpose.

"What was the alternative? _Should _I get out and push?" He sighed, a soft susurration of air. "I won't break our agreement. Not unless you want me to."

She stared at him in stunned outrage, torn between capitulating and anger that once again, he'd tossed the choice into her lap. His eyes raked her face for the smallest changes of expression. There was none she could give him. In contrast, his own was a kaleidoscope, enquiry flickering into understanding, and finally a tightening of his lips that suggested he'd arrived at a decision.

Slowly, Shepard unlocked his elbows, freeing his hands to grasp her face. The interplay took place in slow motion. She knew it was his implicit way of giving her the chance to push him away if she wanted. Knowing that reminded her again of how he continued to haunt her heart all these years, and made it even more impossible to rebuff the advance.

His lips touched hers gently, chastely even. But she was suddenly sick of the indeterminacy between them, sick of all the tap dancing. With a growl of frustration, she shoved his hands aside to fling her arms around his neck, flushing their bodies together. Even in armour, she could feel the jolt of surprise running through Shepard, but then his hesitation vanished. Their faces and necks were the only areas exposed, a shortcoming that simply heightened meticulous attendance and incredible sensitivity.

He covered her mouth with his, parting her lips to slide his tongue in. The taste and feel of him was heady, rough and unapologetic. This close, his masculine scent was intoxicating, fulfilling what she'd tantalised herself with for weeks. Lack of air finally forced their mouths apart, and she went unerring for his neck, swirling her tongue around the swell of his Adam's apple and relishing in the salty tang of his skin. The rumble that trembled his throat only accentuated the experience further. Not to be outdone, Shepard returned the measure as she guided him to her neck. He compiled like an eager puppy, licking and nipping the soft skin there with his teeth even as he rubbed the rough growth of his beard against the rest of the expanse. She uttered a low moan and dragged her fingers through his hair. He'd always been an attentive lover, knowing exactly what her weaknesses were.

Hands played counterpoint to the dialogue of tongues. The feel of skin against skin was out of the question elsewhere, but pressure remained a potent force. There was more space allowance around their lower torsos, and she lost no time wedging her legs around his waist to press hard against his crotch. He gave a strangled gasp and then slipped a hand between her ass, shoving upwards in a hard motion to grind the armour plate against her sex. Thankfully, her cry of pleasure was muffled by the renewed presence of his tongue in her mouth.

The null-g environment and the onslaught of sensations absent for years amplified every reaction to ridiculous heights. As wave after wave of sensation washed over Miranda's body, the overriding thought that came to mind was this was long, long overdue. She could only be grateful that they wore armour and were deep in hostile territory. Otherwise, they'd have fucked each other silly by now. Even so, the jolt that ran through the canister as it finally dropped out of the tube wouldn't have registered if not for the sudden return of gravity. Her knees would've buckled on the spot if they could, except there wasn't enough space. As it was, she half-slid off him before they broke apart to stare at each other dazedly while their harsh breathing punctuated the air.

Finally, Shepard reached up to slide the lid back. He hoisted her up by the waist so she could grip the rim to haul herself out before reaching down to assist him. The area around the tube was shielded on two sides by buildings. A quick glance beyond revealed an empty parking lot. Against all odds, their luck had held out.

But the rational part of Miranda's mind continued to chasten that what just happened was highly irresponsible. Even now she remained distracted, her entire body raw and charged like a live wire. She spared Shepard a meaningful glance which he caught, and then shook her head. He nodded understanding that now was not the time to talk about it as he walked slowly and stiffly to join her.

She cleared her throat.

"Are you all right?"

The tube system had deposited them neatly outside the complex and the shuttle was just a kilometre away. What frustration she felt at the rude interruption was soberly mitigated by the realisation that they still had to save Oriana.

"Going to need a few minutes before I can run. Male problem," he supplied gruffly.

She choked back an impolitic laugh, and settled for giving him an apologetic look instead.

"I'll contact Shan and tell him we're incoming," she said, moving away to give him recovery space.

It was two hours later when they returned to the complex again, this time with Shan in tow. The trip to pick the marine up had been fraught with uncomfortable silence, and valiantly, they'd tried to fall back on their professional roles again. The result was thirty minutes of hectic discussion in the shuttle, fine-combing through the battle plan, going over what worked and what wouldn't.

A tentative proposal to include security guards from the other parts of the complex was shot down on the basis that they were civilians and would get mowed down in no time. In the end, the logical conclusion came back to just the three of them sneaking in, take down as many patrols as they could via stealth and pre-empting all chances for them to report back.

Both Shepard and herself were well aware of the Blue Suns' operational protocols to check in every fifteen minutes during a Level One alert. That was their time window—wait for the latest report to go out, and in fifteen minutes, eliminate as many as possible on the way to the storage facility in order to reach there with an element of surprise.

Locating the sole sentry left to guard the eastern stretch of the boundary had been easy as well. The clueless merc had retreated into the gatehouse as Shepard drew near. The moment he reported in, Shepard drove a knife through his throat before motioning Shan and Miranda to join him.

Ten minutes into the operation saw a merc sliding bonelessly to the ground, victim of a well-placed shot. Beside her, Shan gently eased another body to the ground after firing his heavy pistol point-blank into the back of the hapless man, bypassing the protective range of his kinetic barrier.

"Pile them against that niche," Miranda instructed as she heaved her target's body by the armpits.

That was the fifth group. Ten mercs down, at least twenty to forty more to go. Two of those groups were taken down by Shepard who was scouting ahead, their bodies tucked neatly into corners. It was chilling to see heads hanging off unnatural angles and wide slashes across necks that severed all major veins and arteries, leaving bodies sitting in widening pools of blood. She knew he did it out of necessity, but the killing method was almost brutal and cold-blooded, a far cry from the modus operandi he'd used to favour.

The whisper of live electronics came on as Shan completed the task with his dead target.

"_Way's clear. No more patrols in sight. They've probably pulled back to the facility. Which means we've got to hit it now. I'm in the plastics processing plant—the L-shaped building."_

"Let's go."

She and Shan legged the distance, trusting Shepard's intel. They arrived to find him in the process of priming an alarming number of trip bombs and land mines. There were blood splatters all over his armour and face, again something he didn't seem to mind.

Faintly disturbed, Miranda was compelled to ask, "I thought we've agreed on a low-key approach. Are you thinking to change the plan now?"

"Just being prepared," he replied and then inclined his head at the connecting door to the storage facility. "Most of the mercs are at the main entrance on the other side. We should still be able to stealth in. After we eliminate the guards on the other side of this door."

He began distributing the primed explosives, stuffing the remainder into his sling bag.

"Shan and I will handle them. You need to hack the door. It's beyond our expertise. We good to go?"

She nodded reluctantly. Both men took positions on either side of the door. Shepard drew his bloodied combat knife out before nodding at her.

The lock was as tricky as he said. When the door finally slid open, both men darted to engage the two stationary guards at the sides. Blood spurt in a wide arc as Shepard disposed of his target soundlessly. She ran to assist Shan who had his target in a headlock, shoving her own combat knife through a gap in the merc's armour.

Reprogramming the lock took one more minute, and in that interim, she found she couldn't shake off her disquiet at Shepard's brutal efficiency. It felt decidedly out of character for him for some reason. But as usual, now wasn't the time. With a silent sigh of frustration, she unholstered her heavy pistol and made for the metal staircase beside the door. The two men had already moved on ahead, inching forward from cover to cover.

Miranda fired up the electromagnetic and infrared bandwidths on her visor. A well-hidden alarm right at the top of the staircase lit up on the former like a blue beacon. She disabled it and ran past, making a beeline as quietly as possible for the next staircase that led to the ceiling gantry. It made an ideal position for snipers, and her job was to eliminate those.

A blind turn revealed a surprised guard. He tried to level his weapon at her, but she slapped it down with one hand, her other flashing to smash her firearm across his neck. Pivoting, she landed an elbow against his face causing him to drop his firearm before she fired her pistol point blank into his stomach. Like a telepathic signal going off, the sound of gunfire echoed from below.

That did it.

She ran for the second staircase at a ground-eating pace until shouts from above stopped her short. A quick vault to the side of the landing hid her presence and the sudden glow of biotics that enveloped her body. The unfortunate merc that came down was neatly tossed off to fall two stories below. At the top of the final landing, Miranda rearmed herself with the pistol and extended her visor to mark the position of the sniper around the bend. He looked up in surprise, his hand halfway to his pistol as she fired a clean shot through his head.

Crouching down, she peered through the telescopic sight just in time to see Shepard tossing a grenade through the main door. In the aftermath of the explosion, Shan ran in to attach trip bombs on both sides before sliding a number of remote-detonation land mines into the space just beyond. Readying his SMG, he prepared to hold the line.

Tearing her eyes away from the spectacle, she dragged the dead sniper aside and dropped to a prone firing position to examine the rifle. It was the new model from Rosenkov Materials that came into service during the Reaper war, famed for its ability to punch through both kinetic barrier and armour in a single shot. She'd never undergone sniper training, but the mechanics were familiar to her and at short distances, the targeting system ought to compensate for any of her shortfalls.

"I'm in sniping position, north-west side, top of the gantry."

"_Can you cover me?"_

"You're in my sight. I should be able to take out what you flush from the woodwork."

In response, she saw the familiar signs of dark energy outline his body as he lifted a supply box effortlessly, exposing a heavy weapons specialist and a trooper. She took aim at the grenade launcher through the cross-hair and depressed the trigger. The recoil was harder than she'd anticipated, but the weapon corrected the kick smoothly. The heavy armament blew up in an incandescent fireball, killing both targets outright. Ejecting the spent thermal clip and reloading in quick succession, Miranda pivoted the weapon to the right and took out another merc who was attempting to flank Shepard.

That required another reload. While she slapped a new clip into the cooling chamber, Shepard's biotics flared up as he rammed straight into another target and fired his shotgun at point blank. The merc crumbled into a heap.

"_Thanks. Looks clear down here. I'll start on the room search."_

"I'll cover Shan."

"_Appreciate it, ma'am."_

She swung the rifle to the far left. The telescopic sight automatically compensated for daylight glare from the main entrance. The only problem was the angle only covered half the space. As she struggled to reposition the twenty-kilogram firearm and its bipod for a better angle, there was a scraping sound around the bend. She whipped out her SMG just as two mercs rounded the corner and opened fire.

Miranda winced as her barrier took several hits. Instinctively, she drew her limbs close to present a smaller target while laying down cover fire. Seeing one merc's kinetic barrier flicker and die, she wrapped him up in a mass effect field and threw him off the gantry. As her rounds overloaded the remaining merc's shield and pierced through, it occurred to her that they could only have gotten the jump if they'd broken her lock on the connecting door.

Her own biotic barrier was spent. The last shot actually tore past but her armour proved to be the final line of defence. Gingerly, she fingered the burnt dent on her right shoulder, and experimented with a few swings on the joint. Badly bruised but not broken. Tremors coursed through her body, the effects of adrenaline and incredible amounts of energy spent harnessing her biotics in the short time combined.

She ejected the thermal clip from the sniper rifle, shoved it into the ammo bag lying beside and slung the whole thing on her back to ensure no one else would be able to use the weapon. Suppressing a groan, she stumbled to her feet and slapped a new clip into her SMG. A surreptitious glance down after the bend confirmed her fears. A new squad had entered through the connecting door. Removing a belt of grenades from their holder on her waist, she ripped off the series of safety pins with her teeth and tiredly forced the eezo nodules in her nervous system to engage again.

"Fire in the hole!"

There was only time to issue that warning before she clambered over the railing and jumped. As her biotics slowed down her descent, she threw the belt as far as she could before returning her mass to near-normal immediately after. The floor came up in a rush and she couldn't stifle her cry of pain as she hit the ground on the bad shoulder. The subsequent roll to cover was almost too late. The grenades detonated in an explosion that deafened her, trembling bedrock until the entire building shook. Debris and body parts showered down, followed by bigger pieces of twisted metal and concrete blocks that miraculously missed her. Wiping globs of bloody tissue from her face, Miranda poked her head over cover and saw at least six bodies, all dismembered. With clinical dispassion, she got up and opened fire on the leftover as they lay twitching on the ground.

"—_come in. Miranda! Are you okay?"_

Shepard's voice came across as a tinny whine. It took a while to realise there wasn't an equipment malfunction, but rather her ears were still ringing.

"I'm fine!"

She staggered across to check on the door. It didn't exist anymore, along with a good portion of the wall. Thankfully, it wasn't load bearing. Access to the gantry was also destroyed, another good thing. Trip bombs would have to guard this entrance now. The time spent affixing them also gave her accelerated healing a chance to kick in and by the time she was done, she was able to jog back to the front of the building.

Shepard looked up from his attempt at hacking a room door.

"What happened?"

"They came in from the back, a full squad." She reloaded her weapon with some difficulty. "I've dealt with them."

He placed a hand on her shoulder, the left one fortunately, and scrutinised her in concern.

"I'm engineered to be ambidextrous, remember? I can still fire a gun with my other hand," she countered, daring him to object. "Any luck at all?"

"That's not what I was thinking," he said and then shook his head tiredly. "Ground floor's almost done."

At her stricken look, he squeezed her shoulder and smiled fierce encouragement.

"She _has_ to be here somewhere. If you took out one squad, they should be down to ten men or less by now. Keep searching. I'll go help Shan."

The sound of gunfire ripped the air from the building entrance all this time. Just as Shepard finished speaking, a giant conflagration rocked the main door. The heat and roar of the explosion was a palpable force even at this distance. They exchanged one look and then ran in unison. Shan laid unmoving beside the door, thrown flat on the ground by the shockwave.

The smoke cleared slowly. Through the agitated haze, Miranda saw Kai Leng standing at a safe distance outside. She took in the sight of body parts scattered throughout the area in disbelief. The bastard actually tripped the bombs with his men in the line of fire!

"_Kai Leng!" _

It took her a moment to register the hiss of outrage as Shepard's.

The glow of biotics limned his body in a blaze far brighter than she'd ever seen. For a moment, his anger-filled features were obliterated. In the next, he was gone, in a charge so hard and fast all she could catch was the sight of Kai Leng being tossed off his feet twenty-metres away, and smashed straight into a solid wall of the adjacent building and beyond.

They'd agreed that Kai Leng _was_ the complication, and right from the start, Shepard had volunteered to take him out of the picture. Even so, Miranda couldn't shake the feeling of dread at way he'd taken off. She stood there, stunned, and then remembered Shan. They weren't out of the woods yet, not by a long shot. Fortunately, the younger man was in the middle of getting to his feet.

"Are you okay?"

Shan looked about dazedly and then nodded. She picked up his SMG and slapped it into his hands.

"Go back John up. I'll take care of here. Go!"

Miranda ran the breath of the facility back to the door Shepard half-hacked, and quickly completed the task. Her useless right arm was a nuisance, requiring her to swap her SMG between hands. She levelled her weapon as the door slid open on a dark room filled to the brim with supplies. With a sound of disgust, she hit the shut button and proceeded to the next. A quick inspection revealed two remaining rooms on the ground floor. Frustration began building up as both doors revealed only supplies behind them.

She took the staircase two steps at a time, and began hacking the first door on the row. It was almost impossible to believe Oriana could still be in the building after all this time, but she refused to give up.

In her frantic haste, she almost keyed the wrong combination. She cursed and then forced herself to breathe deeply. The first and second door opened to empty rooms. Her mind refused to dwell on the fact that there were only five rooms on this level.

The third door finally slid open on its tracks to reveal Oriana within. The abject relief she felt was immediately mitigated by the presence of a merc standing behind, holding her at gun point. Miranda levelled her pistol despite the fact that she couldn't even get a clear look at the face. A sinking feeling permeated her. At this range, neither of them would be able to penetrate each other's defences in one shot. The only casualty here would be Oriana.

"Your friends are dead. Let her go and you walk free. Hurt her and I'll tear you apart."

Oriana's eyes had widened at the sight of her. Then her little sister did the strangest thing. She began shaking her head frantically.

"You can't kill her, Miri, you _can't_."

"What are you talking about, Ori?" She muttered fiercely, fear rising within her at Oriana's decidedly strange behaviour.

"Touching," a female voice drawled. Slowly, the figure sidestepped from behind Oriana.

It was one of those rare moments of her life she could count using one hand. Miranda's mind went absolutely blank at the sight of her own face smiling coldly back at her.

It had to be a dream, it _had_ to be.

"_Who are you?"_ she finally rasped.

"What an ironic question." The other woman's brow lifted in a vulgar parody of her own trademark quirk. "Fine, I'll play it straight. I'm Cordelia. Our father named me in the hope that I'd be his one true daughter. After his two older abandoned him. Again, terribly ironic, don't you think?"

She shook her head hard, but the phantom refused to disappear.

_Did you really think he'd stop working on his dynasty the moment you and Oriana were safely out of his reach?_

That half-remembered thought swam damningly to the surface of her mind. With herculean effort, she shoved it away and replaced it with the terrified face of Oriana staring at her.

"Let her go. Now."

"You don't have a leg to stand on when it comes to making demands, dear sister. We both know the only one who can die here is _her_."

Cordelia laid a hand on Oriana's shoulder.

"One wrong move and I'll blow her head off. Unless you want to test it yourself."

"Why the hell are you doing this?"

Her own face made a little toss of the head to flick long hair away, and then frowned back at her.

"Are you stupid? So you'd come to the place where it all began, of course. But I won't negotiate under current circumstances. Now back off."

It was like an unimaginable nightmare—watching two actors clad in twin masks of a Japanese _Noh_ play, each personifying an emotional aspect of human nature. Triumph and Fear intertwined. And herself, an unwilling dreaming participant, wearing a similar mask, but one twisted in the paroxysm of helpless anger.

Miranda wanted to scream. But she gritted her teeth and did as she was told. And watched as her doppelganger, and doppelganger it was, far more than Oriana even, drag one of the pillars of her heart away.

-~o~-

The instantaneous rush which smashed them through the concrete-reinforced acrylic compounded walls was almost instinctive. One of Shepard's regrets had been he was unable to kick the living daylights out of Kai Leng when the time came to apprehend him for his crimes. The other man had no such qualms, taking down almost half of the _Normandy's_ crew along with him. As far as Shepard was concerned, the payback was long overdue.

They didn't stop until they hit the far wall of the plastics moulding facility. So massive was the charge that Shepard could feel the tingles from his nervous system as dark energy surged through his synapses. The speed and momentum of the charge was so powerful that Kai Leng's kinetic barrier system automatically kicked in. It also apparently broke load-bearing structures of the building, causing a loud roar as the entire western portion caved in. Rubble stoppered the crudely-made passage. They were alone, for now.

Their final landing was bone-jarring, but Shepard knew better than to underestimate the other man. Almost immediately, Kai Leng shoved a knee in-between them and kicked, sending him tumbling away. The flicker of recharging shields enveloped Kai Leng as he jumped back up and extracted his SMG. On his part, Shepard gripped his shotgun ready as they started circling one another.

His mind went into overdrive. He could charge and fire, but if he didn't get Kai Leng in one move, the other man would have the edge. In all their sparring matches on board the _Normandy_, Kai Leng was one of the very few who could best him in hand-to-hand combat. To make things worse, Shepard knew he was out of form. The years spent commanding fleets from the comfort of a flagship had taken their toll in the form of slip-ups he'd never imagine himself making. Even now, his muscles ached from all the exertion.

A headlong rush like before would only end up getting his ass handed back to him on a platter. No, it was time for a calculative approach.

"How did you escape from jail, Kai Leng?" Shepard asked conversationally. "Didn't the Alliance extradite you from Council ruling so you could rot in eternal hell?"

The other man smirked as he carefully circled his prey. Prey was pretty much what Kai Leng would see him as.

"The war, of course. War makes everyone equal. Although I had to even out the odds a bit."

"Let me guess, did that include mass murder, arson and destruction of government property?"

Kai Leng gave a deceptively self-deprecating shrug.

"Collateral damage. That's what you used to call it. I only learned from the best."

"Fuck you." Shepard growled. "I never taught you that."

"Correct. You taught me nothing I didn't already know."

Kai Leng's moves were smooth as a cat's. They were similar in age, but Kai Leng had the advantage of not spending the last few years lounging in command chairs. Just as the other man walked right in front of the control panel of one of the machines, Shepard charged.

The force he used was far less than the one before, just enough to ram Kai Leng right into the panel. In the flash of a moment, the other man struck one arm up, neatly deflecting the incoming gunshot. His other hand gripping the SMG smashed right across Shepard's face, hard enough to stagger.

"Getting soft in your old age, Shepard?"

But Kai Leng's look of triumph turned to anger as he realised the reason for the weak charge. With a jerk, he tore himself away from control panel. The damage was already done. His kinetic barrier generator sparkled from impact with one of the levers, causing his shield to flicker and then wink out of existence.

Rage contorted his features as Shepard lifted his shotgun again. With almost unimaginable speed, Kai Leng drew his combat knife and ran into melee range. Knife met gun barrel, before sliding down in a teeth-grinding whine. The force behind that downward thrust would almost certainly slice through ceramic-alloyed gloves. Without thinking, Shepard dropped his left hand from the barrel, his trigger finger almost breaking from the sudden increase in the pressure-hold.

Shepard threw a punch with his free hand just enough to unbalance Kai Leng. In that split second, he gripped his gun from the other side, twisting to catch the blade between the barrel and the mass effect field generator.

It'd come down to a battle of strength and tenacity. Both knife and barrel were made of dura-alloy. Both men were also cybernetically augmented for enhanced combat performance. But tenacity wasn't a fight Shepard could win at. Combat fatigue was a problem before, but now it had become an Achilles' heel. Already, his muscles were screaming in protest.

With a shout, Shepard fired up his biotics, augmenting his faltering strength with mass effect fields. He executed a hard torque, snapping the knife at the base of the blade. Kai Leng responded by smashing the hilt against his neck, almost crushing his windpipe. The sound of gunfire rocked the air in-between as Shepard's trigger finger spasmed. It was a blind shot, but by a stroke of luck, one of the tungsten sabot rounds ripped through Kai Leng's left hand.

The other man roared in pain and executing a hand-twist that tore the firearm from his shaky grasp. Shepard reacted with a hard biotic yank that ragdolled Kai Leng away, throwing him straight into a wall with a bone-crunching thud.

Shepard looked on as his assailant slid down to the floor. Slowly, he stumbled over to his shotgun and picked it up.

Just as he levelled the weapon on Kai Leng's inert form, a gunshot rang out, the friction of the bullet scouring a thin gash across his cheek. He turned around to the sight of Miranda standing in the doorway with one hand tightly snaked around Oriana's neck.

"Miranda...?" he breathed on autopilot. "What are you doing? Why did you bring Oriana in here?"

Then the strangest thing happened. Oriana struggled against the deadlock as she shook her head frantically.

"It's not Miri!"

Her scream rang out just as the phantom figure lifted her pistol and fired again.

_Shit, shit, shit. _

Instinctively, Shepard rolled into cover. He forced his mind to wrap around what he just saw. But if Oriana existed, the logical conclusion was why wouldn't there be others? No expletive was strong enough for this. He closed his eyes and tried to psych himself to open fire on the woman, any woman who wore that face. He wasn't sure he could.

It was pointless anyway. Oriana didn't have any protection. A single shot was all it took to get her killed.

Sure enough, the doppelganger called out in that achingly familiar voice, "Raise your hands and come out slowly, or I'll start shooting off her limbs."

Shepard grimaced. It was like going back to his first command, on that ill-fated expedition on Akuze. No baseline to compare with, his mind totally flat-lined. Finally, he latched on to one certainty—neither woman must come to harm. That logic was riddled with gaping holes, but right now, it was the only decision that made sense.

"Don't make me carry out my threat, Shepard."

He cursed and shook his head hard. There was only one way to handle this, the only strategy his confounded thoughts could patch together.

Firing up his biotics, Shepard rose slowly to his feet, hands held high in the air.

He forced his eyes to stay trained on the third twin as he made a show of dropping his shotgun. Third twin, what a hoot. The coldness in her eyes surpassed anything he'd ever seen from Miranda. Where was Miranda now, his mind skittered off with. With effort, he brought it back on track, the same way he slowly and painstakingly lifted a steel drum behind the two women without betraying a sound. Mimetic gestures were inculcated into almost every form of human biotic training in existence, but through sheer mental focus aided by visualisation of those gestures, it was possible to harness mass effect fields without them.

Shepard gritted his teeth at the effort as he walked slowly forward. Faintly, he heard Kai Leng's groan of pain and saw the man stirred in the corner of his eye. That clinched it. The other twin's eyes widened in alarm as she finally caught his intention. She sidestepped, but not fast enough to avoid the drum slamming into her flank.

Shepard sprinted and crashed into Oriana. He tucked her close as they skidded across the room and rolled behind a series of complicated-looking moulding machines. Whipping out his SMG, he blind fired over cover as he extracting his pistol, the only weapon he had left, and pressed it into Oriana's inert hands.

"If Kai Leng comes over, don't hesitate. Just shoot." He instructed. "Go wedge yourself against that corner over there."

Her wide blue eyes brimmed with unshed tears.

"Don't kill her!"

"I won't. I promise."

Painful cramps spasmed his muscles. Every move was pure torture, but Shepard knew he had to leave the spot, or risk drawing fire and endangering Oriana. There was no way he could take Kai Leng down in a fistfight, but the advantage of close quarters was clear now. Kai Leng had lost his shields, and that in itself was the best defence against gunfire from the other twin.

Slapping a new clip into his SMG and priming his biotics, Shepard rolled out of cover. He winced as fresh shots hammered his barrier, but he knew he made too attractive a target for Kai Leng not to fire at. Unleashing the accumulated dark energy, Shepard charged.

This time, he gripped Kai Leng's shoulder harness in an elbow lock. As predicted, Kai Leng's fists began to make short work of his exposed face. But he ignored all of that as he swung around to empty his entire thermal clip at the other woman until her shield overloaded and flickered out.

That was his cue. With Kai Leng in tow, he rammed straight into her. The combined momentum smashed the three of them into a pile of rubble. The whiplash would have snapped the neck of any ordinary human. As it was, sandwiched between rock and two armoured bodies, the third twin finally crumbled into a comatose heap.

The blurred ceiling of the facility came slowly into focus as Shepard tried to rise to his feet. The numbness he'd felt before had now permeated his entire body. He tried bracing his arm under him. That failed. Fighting against a tide of irrational fear, he settled for lifting a hand. This had never happened before and his face contorted into a rictus as he willed himself to move to no avail.

Nearby, gunfire resounded, and he could only hope Miranda and Shan were closing in. Agonisingly, he looked on as Kai Leng slowly stood up. To be betrayed at the very end by his own body—the irony was indescribable.

Shepard could only look on as his nemesis dragged the unconscious woman away. Next, Kai Leng walked over to his shotgun and picked it up.

"Bet you've been salivating so hard for this moment, huh?"

Slurred words were all he had, and he threw them like haphazard bullets at the other man. Through hazy vision, he saw Kai Leng cocked his head to one side as he lifted the shotgun.

This close, it was impossible for all three shots to miss. His body couldn't even harness the resources to react to the abuse. Faintly, Shepard felt the coppery taste of blood fill his mouth. Far away, the sound of commotion edged nearer. His rapidly darkening vision registered emptiness before Kai Leng entered the picture again, this time holding a metal rod.

"For the record, I've always hated your speeches," came the cold assertion as the rod drove home. "You talked too much."

Awareness slowly contracted into a pinprick, and then was snuffed out in entirety.

-~o~-

Miranda cursed as she was forced to make a roundabout to reach the moulding complex, a task excruciatingly hampered by the few mercs remaining. Cordelia had retreated past that scant frontline, taking Oriana with her. She wasted no time tearing through the sparse ranks with Shan. Seeing the battle lost, two of the mercs had tried to make a break for it. She mowed them down mercilessly. In that brief time, she'd regained the use of her right arm, and she flexed it carefully before bursting through the door into the facility.

Her eyes immediately registered Oriana's crawling form. It was like the weight of the world was lifted off her. And then she saw the supine figure her little sister was crawling towards. There was no other living presence in the space. Slowly, she walked over, and for the moment, she couldn't comprehend what it meant seeing the pool of blood Shepard was lying in, or the metal rod stuck grotesquely like a victory flagpole into his chest.

Eventually, she found herself coming to kneel by his side. Just in time to watch as the light left his eyes.


	14. Chapter 5 Part 1

**A/N:** I realise as more and more information for ME3 hits the net, my timeline has become impossibly divergent to the point that the differences can't be reconciled anymore. When I started writing this story, I came to realise that I couldn't do it without making some permanent changes, and the alternative was to wait until ME3 was released to write it. But that's in the future, and I may not even care enough for the characters and the universe by that time. Win some, lose some, I guess.

All I can say is I hope that I have convincingly created a believable and detailed alternate universe that lets this piece ring true on some level, and the trials and tribulations of the characters are portrayed in such a way that readers can identify and empathise with.

Kudos again to Ieldra, my beta-reader who helped cushioned me against all the ME3 revelations and kept my spirit up to write what is now an irrefutably non-canonical fanfic. Also a shout-out to the various gals on The Character Room forums for their feedback. Occasionally, I'd get a frantic message asking me not to abandon this story. Thank you for your obvious investment and interest. Just remember my chapters are massive by fanfic standards, so months of silence doesn't mean I've stopped writing, I'm simply pounding out a longer than usual chapter—case in point, chapter 5. :)

* * *

**Chapter 5**

The time between the heart stopping and the lack of blood to the brain resulting in irrevocable brain damage had been established as a three-minute window. It was a measure of how attenuated Miranda was to crisis that even as she had to mentally kick herself out of shock, her hands moved instinctively to do all the right things.

Oriana had reached out with one trembling hand to feel for his pulse. She didn't need to depend on such imprecise methods. The diagnostic program in her omni-tool confirmed without a doubt Shepard had flatlined.

"How long?" she demanded distractedly as she moved to unclasp the catches of his armour in feverish haste. On the other side, Oriana, who had begun mimicking her motions, looked up in a fluster.

"Wha-? Uh, the gunshots—about one minute ago, I think. I'd heard Kai Leng's voice. Then there was this awful grinding sound and I saw him run out that door with Cordelia slung across his shoulder."

Tossing aside the last piece of news for later, Miranda toggled the comm-link even as her hands never stopped prying pieces of armour off Shepard's torso.

"Shan, get me the med-kit and the tools John left behind in the storage facility, stat!"

"_What's going on?"_

"Just do it!"

She hissed in frustration as the chest portions remained stuck fast, wedged in place by the rod. It had to go, despite the fact that pulling the bloody thing out would cause more bleeding. But nothing mattered if she couldn't get his heart beating again. A hard yank yielded no effect, and she couldn't help but curse Kai Leng's strength and resolve.

"Help me brace him in place, Ori."

With Oriana doing that, Miranda augmented her strength with biotics and heaved hard. She winced at how she was making the wound bigger, but finally the rod came out.

Without pressure from a heartbeat, the blood oozed out in a trickle. A small blessing. From her belt, she pulled out a pack of medi-gel, tore it open with her teeth, and reached several fingers into that gaping hole to slather the sticky substance around the wound, temporarily sealing it. Pointless getting Shepard's heart back online only to have him bleed out.

Finally, she tore away the chest pieces, exposing the flexi-webbing that formed the underlayer of the armour. With clinical precision, she began pressing down on his chest at regular intervals, alternating with mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.

_Come on, don't you dare die on me!_

She had no idea how long she kept at it, except that after awhile she realised Oriana was trying to get her attention. She looked up to her sister's tear-streaked face in a daze.

"Let me help. I know CPR."

Mutely, Miranda moved to give her sister space as she swiped sweat-dampened hair away from her face. The time they spent working in tandem merged into one breathless eternity, with Oriana on chest compressions while she forced air into Shepard's lungs. And all she could think as she covered his mouth with hers was how this parody of a kiss wasn't something she wanted to take as her last memory of him.

She was forced to stop when blackness threatened to engulf her vision. It was only then that she took a glance at her omni-tool. One and a half minute had come and gone, and Shepard remained deathly still. Shan had arrived in the interim with the items she asked for, his face starkly sober at the spectacle before him. With that finally came the sinking realisation that she was losing Shepard irrevocably.

"_Breathe, damn you!"_

Shoving Oriana's hands away, Miranda clasped her own tightly to smash them down on Shepard's chest. With each subsequent blow, she increased the force until the effect would have broken the ribs of an ordinary man, and Shepard—she _refused_ to think of it as his body, damn it—jerked from the power of her blows.

As she did this, a rush of questions rose like an irresistible upwelling. Why did the war have to come between them? Why were they forced to undergo personal hells separately? And knowing all that, why did it take her so long after to forgive him? She wished again and again she could've taken back her obstinacy. That was as far as coherent thought went. Everything else dissolved into molasses of self-recrimination and a primal despair that went beyond words.

It was only when everything swam before her eyes that she felt resistance in her arms. She blinked tears she wasn't aware of shedding and saw that Oriana had grabbed her with both hands, a frightened expression on her face.

"Miri, stop! It's not helping!"

Shakily, Miranda wiped her eyes, thrown out of the mindless rut she'd dug herself into. With that interruption came the return of cold reason. Oriana was right. But she couldn't trust herself to say anything, so she gave a spasmodic nod of thanks.

Two minutes had gone by. The only viable option was defibrillation. Except she hadn't counted on needing to do that and so hadn't purchased a dedicated unit. Shepard's ribcage was reinforced by carbon fibre weaves. It was why she had no qualms about the strength she used. And riding on the back of that thought came something that Miranda had almost forgotten.

With efficient motions, she ripped off her gloves and unzipped Shepard's flexi-webbing, stripping the final layer off him. The horrific holes caused by the shotgun as well as the rod were stomach-churning. She paid them no heed as she drew her combat knife. Pulling out another pack of medi-gel from the pouch, she applied a thin layer to the blade to disinfect it. Then she covered her hands with more of the substance before using her fingers to gauge the location of his sternum. She applied the weapon just below it, driving the implement downwards in one swift stroke. Oriana gave a gasp of shock, but Miranda ignored it as she tossed aside the weapon and plunged her hand into his body cavity.

The truth was there was never a control chip. The idea that Shepard's behaviour could be controlled was laughable, not to mention counterproductive in the animosity that would foster against Cerberus. She'd spent the better part of two years rebuilding his mind and would've never risked him undergoing a brain aneurism. Despite how playing subordinate to the 'Saviour of the Citadel', a man who spent two years as an inanimate object on her lab table, had been a bitter pill to swallow. The fact that Shepard had been amused at her attempt to goad him remained one of the most infuriating moments of her life.

Thinking back to their first encounter was such a surreal experience. How far they'd come since then. Maybe even further if she hadn't been so stubborn, or if he survived this. And she clung on to that thought like a prayer as she groped blindly around his inert organs.

Although there wasn't a control chip, there was a behavioural safeguard should Shepard become unruly. Built into his body was a microminiaturised battery with the ability to short-circuit his cybernetics by running several thousand volts through his body. She'd personally installed it, and over time, its existence had slipped her mind. Ironic that now it was the thing that could possibly save his life.

The remote that controlled the battery was destroyed long ago. She would have to prime it physically. Her groping finally bore fruit as her fingers made contact with the hard surface of the battery. Painstakingly, Miranda manipulated it until she could feel the inset button to depress it. Next she carefully removed her hand and consulted her omni-tool to locate the new transmission frequency and hack it.

"Hands off, Ori. I'm going to defibrillate him."

She warned and then fired off the command. Shepard's body arced and collapsed. But the diagnostic program still registered a flat line. There was a danger that a higher voltage may fry his biological organs as well as overload the cybernetic parts, but at this point, there was nothing left to lose. Making the agonising decision, she raised the voltage and tried again.

After what seemed like a lifetime, her omni-tool finally registered a heartbeat. With an abrupt cough, Shepard jerked and then drew a ragged breath. Followed by another and another.

It was a reflection of the emotional rollercoaster she'd undergone that she daren't trust what her eyes told her. And it was the faint sound of air whistling through his perforated lung that finally intruded on her mental whiteout and galvanised her into renewed action.

Her hands dove for new packets of medi-gel, and carefully, she slathered the substance on the cut she'd made before examining the entry points of the gunshots. Most of the rounds had passed through cleanly, but a good number remained lodged within. She realised with dismay she'd have to go in and remove every single pellet before Shepard could begin the long road to recovery.

At least one shot had torn a hole through his right lung. More medi-gel contributed its adhesive quality to temporarily address the traumatic pneumothorax problem. It was the best she could do for now.

"Is he going to be okay?" Oriana asked in a small voice.

Shepard's chest continued to rise and fall slightly, and his heart beat a faint but regular rhythm. There was no question that he still needed medical attention. Even so, cued by Oriana's question, she couldn't help her own sudden flare of hope.

"I can't say yet, but I hope so."

"I'm so sorry. I didn't think anything would happen to him. It was my fault." Oriana wrung her hands in frustrated helplessness. "I asked him not to hurt Cordelia. I didn't think it would end this way."

Miranda reached out a bloodied hand and gripped her little sister on the shoulder. Only now did it occur to her that they'd succeeded in saving Oriana—the objective of the entire excursion. On an impulse, she drew her twin in for a quick hug. A proper reunion would have to wait. And likely not before Shepard was truly out of the woods.

As she pulled back, she realised Shan was missing.

"Where are you, Shan?"

"_Thought I'd make sure there're no more mercs, ma'am. All clear, I think. Is—Shepard okay?"_

She could only be thankful that he had the initiative to do that. At least one of them had their head screwed on tight.

"I think he's stabilised enough to transport. I'm not going to bank on the possibility that we got them all. The faster we evac, the safer I'll feel."

Prepping Shepard for transportation by wrapping his wounds up with rolls of synthetic bandages took the better of five minutes even with Oriana's assistance. She loathed to leave his side, but forced herself to clamber to her feet and surveyed the room. A quick search produced two more of those damning rods of sufficient length.

"Shan, run back to the storage area and grab a couple of those bedsheets. Let's rig up a makeshift stretcher and get the hell out of here."

-~o~-

Extraordinary events often required extraordinary resolve to emerge with one's sanity intact. The Reaper war was one of those singular events that tested the mettle of every sapient being in the galaxy. Oriana had been luckier than most, having advance warning of impending invasions in many cases and escaping on last minute evacuations for others. Her adoptive parents weren't so fortunate, caught in a planet-side ambush early into the war.

It was a wakeup call that made her realise what her own red button issue was—the inability to change the outcome of events that affected her.

Ultimately, she'd mourned for them and moved on. Sure, the sun shone a little less bright and the shadows in the world were darker as a result, but she'd always had the knack of bouncing back up. There was no extraordinary resolve involved. Just that and a renewed determination to influence what personally mattered to her, no matter how small her contribution was.

And so that was how Oriana found herself sweating over a boiling pot in the kitchen of a bungalow in the suburbs of Queenstown on Tasmania, Earth one week later. Cook and general-purpose scullion—those were her new titles and responsibilities. Seeing what that young marine introduced to her as Shan thought of as a meal, she decided she had to take things into hand if she didn't fancy mix-and-eat synthetic pastes three times a day. More importantly, it gave her something to do and with that came a sense that she wasn't entirely helpless.

Right now, she was making gumbo for dinner, something that involved throwing enough edible things into a pot of water until a stew resulted. The original recipe called for more specific ingredients, but they had got a snowball's chance in hell of getting any of those. Even basic condiments were a problem, she was beginning to realise.

"Shan?" she called out plaintively as she searched high and low through the cabinets. "Where's the salt?"

Shan looked up from his survey of Shepard's abused armour, parts of it strewn all over the floor on a tarp. Fixing that was going to be a bitch, and silently she'd wished him luck with his self-appointed task.

"Salt?"

"Yeah, you know that white stuff that makes you feel like you dragged your tongue through the desert if you accidentally swallow a mouthful of it?"

"Umm, don't think we have any. Sorry."

"How the heck do you cook anything _without_ salt?" Oriana muttered half to herself. She considered tossing the rest of the bacon into the pot, but held back on the reasoning that she'd need it to flavour other meals.

"Do you want me to go buy some?" Shan asked, evidently concerned that she was out of sorts.

"What? And send you out in full-body armour, armed to the gills in case Kai Leng gets a jump when you buy a packet of salt?" she teased. "It's okay. Just remember to tack it on the next shopping list."

With or without salt, it was far better than the goop they were having before. She couldn't imagine how the three of them survived on that. Miranda didn't even comment when she'd taken over cooking duties. Heck, she'd have forgotten about eating if food wasn't shoved before her nose along with a good dose of nagging. Still, it could've been worse, Oriana reminded herself as she stirred the pot.

The trip back here on the shuttle had been fraught with silence. One broken by her sister's frustrated assertion that she didn't have the right tools to work on Shepard. The man of the hour turned out to be Shan who revealed the existence of a clinic at such-and-such housing compound not far from the industrial complex, and how it may have what they needed.

Shan had dropped them off here before heading to said-clinic. Armed with authorisation from Miranda, he'd returned not half an hour later with a hovertruck in tow, transporting a portable operating theatre neatly folded up into a one by one metre box, plus a bewildering array of items like oxygen tanks and a freezer box of synthetic blood and plasma supplies.

For more than twenty-four hours, Miranda worked feverishly on Shepard, relying on stim jabs to stay alert throughout. Not having trained as a surgeon, she had to program the robotic AI to perform the trickier operations. Oriana doubled up as her assistant, steeling herself as bullet by bullet was extracted from Shepard's body, his bones reset and his internal organs sewed up.

She'd learned firsthand just how much of Shepard's original body had been replaced by cybernetics. Even his organic heart had been reinforced to pump harder and faster to sustain other high-performance augmentations. It was disquieting, but also a blessing in disguise. A normal human couldn't possibly survive the kind of abuse Shepard had undergone.

That realisation was further cemented after three days of tense waiting to see if he'd pull out of it. Oriana's response upon hearing the good news had been to burst into tears of relief. No matter what, she couldn't help her guilt over how if she hadn't asked Shepard to spare Cordelia's life, he wouldn't be going through hell right now. Her sister had consoled her distractedly, saying Shepard knew the risks. He was the professional in the situation, not her.

She was pretty sure her older sister wasn't immune to the guilt herself. After all, Shepard must have come to save her on Miranda's account.

She sighed as she dipped the ladle into the pot. A taste test said that the gumbo was as good as it was going to get. She ladled out two portions on top of boiled rice for herself and Shan. Shepard had regained consciousness, but remained on a liquid diet. As of two days ago, Miranda had decided he was stable enough to be moved to the master bedroom where she continued holding her vigil. Once Oriana was done eating, she'd bring a portion to what she dubbed 'the gloom room' and try again to get her sister out of that silent self-imposed shell.

If no one else was appreciative of her culinary efforts, Shan more than made up for it.

"Slow down!" Oriana laughed as she picked through her own plate. "There's half a pot left, and it's got your name written all over it."

"It's really good." He supplied in embarrassment as he made the effort not to look like he was going through his last supper.

"Even without the salt?"

"Umm, it's perfect, actually."

She snorted, suspecting feigned courtesy and then realised he was being sincere.

"Now I have to wonder if your tastebuds hadn't atrophied from the goop you were living on."

"I got used to it. Growing up in a colony world, you had to." Here, his voice became almost inaudible. "Although if you keep at the cooking, I'm not sure I could go back to that again."

She half-cocked her head in amused appraisal.

"If I didn't know better, I'd think you're flirting with me."

To her surprise, he actually blushed, turning red to the tip of his ears. She couldn't stop laughter from bubbling up, which caused his shoulders to further hunch to the level of his head.

Shan was her personal protector, by Miranda's decree. Other decrees included excursions to the town centre being out of the question, and how Oriana had to confine herself to the row of suburban shops a few streets down and only with the marine in tow. She got the reasoning—there was a good likelihood their enemies were lying low somewhere in the same town—but there really ought to be a parental consent form to complete the experience.

She'd actually toyed with suggesting dressing up as a quarian, with a facemask and an environ-suit, in exchange for further liberties. Plus yelling "c'mon, c'mon, it's my first time on Earth!" Except that wouldn't sit well with Miranda either way. So she'd bit her lip and complied, knowing that the last thing her older sister needed was another problem on her plate.

"Enjoy it while it lasts. Chalk it down as an episode in your 'Amazing Earth Adventures'. Y'know, the part that doesn't involve getting shot at. I'll still bet your colonist friends wouldn't think they'd missed anything."

"Don't think I've got any of those left. Most of them didn't manage to make it out when Horizon got hit by the Reapers."

"Oh ouch, I'm sorry." She winced. "Uh, if you'll excuse me, I'll go get that ladle to pry my foot out of my mouth."

"It's okay. You couldn't have known."

"Yeah, I'm getting that a lot these days... Like I still wonder why didn't we head straight for a hospital with John? Why was there the need to be so secretive about the whole thing?"

She noticed he refused to meet her eyes.

"Umm, didn't your sister tell you?"

"You're kidding me, right? Half the time she walks around like she's in some limbo, the other half she looks like her best friend just died. Okay, that's not too far from the truth, but John _is_ getting better. But I still get the impression something's...off between them."

She stabbed at chunks of carrot and potato as she unleashed thoughts that had been running amok in her head for an entire week.

"And you know how hard it is to get Miri to talk? Heck, you can set diving records with her silences. I keep feeling like I'm walking on a minefield here, and I don't know when the ground is going to go 'Boom!' under me. But no one wants to tell me anything!"

Oriana looked up to Shan's troubled face and bit her lip.

The only place she had free run of was the safehouse as they called it. Except it was a ridiculously small bungalow. With only one storey that included just two bedrooms, living room, kitchen and a dining niche, preventing the onset of the malady known as stir-crazy had been an almost impossible task.

That was until she realised how susceptible Shan was to her teasing. Their prickly introduction had begun with her dolefully presenting him with a leash as preface for their first outing. He'd stared at the offering with literal head-scratching. It was impossible to leave him alone after that. And more than ever, she wasn't going to back down now. Not when it looked like she could guilt-trip him for information.

"Spill it, Shan," she said seriously. "I know you aren't exactly part of the inner circle, but you have to know a crapload more than me."

She watched as he wrestled with his conscience before finally giving in with a faint sigh. The next twenty minutes was spent listening as he related the events that brought the three of them together to rescue her, including the reason why an Alliance marine would be tagging along on a highly-personal errand.

When she pushed for details about what exactly was Shepard trying to make up for to Miranda, he clamped up and suggested that she asked them herself. But learning about Shepard's trial was more than enough to make her blood boil. How could they even think of charging him for something as absurd as genocide?

Shan was suitably silent on that topic, and the speed at which he demolished his food told her that he wasn't enjoying it like he did before. It was now an excuse not to talk further. Far be it from her to take away the sunshine in any one's life. If anything else, this place needed a dose of lightheartedness she was singularly good at providing.

"Thanks for telling me that, Shan. I didn't mean to make you betray any confidence. John obviously can't speak for himself at the moment. And Miri—well, I think we both know what that's like."

It was the right call. He relaxed and became almost cheerful again as he finished his plate.

"Umm...can I help myself to another portion?"

She gave him the sunniest smile she could muster.

"Gosh, you don't have to ask! You're like the only person who appreciates my cooking around here. In fact, your request makes me so happy, I'll get it for you."

She returned soon to plonk down a generous helping in front of him.

"Bon appétit."

He looked at her with his mouth open and then remembered to close it.

"I can't help but think you're so different from your sister..."

"Annnnd that's one comparison I'm glad I don't get too much of. Thank god we're rarely together in one place. Don't get me wrong. I love Miri but you'd think she's my mother rather than my sister sometimes." She schooled her expression into a disapproving frown and pitched her voice low. "'No, you can't do this, not till you're one hundred and fifty years old. That's out of bounds too until you've gone through commando training.' Meh!"

Shan guffawed at her imitation of Miranda and then confessed ruefully.

"Your sister scares me actually. Like you said, she keeps to herself most of the time. I never know what she thinks." Quiet awe filled his voice here. "Both her and Admiral Shepard are so larger-than-life it's like I'm working with giants."

"That reminds me, I've got to bring food to Miri _and_ bug her to eat." Oriana frowned. "I take back what I just said actually. Other than assigning you as my snitch, it's like our roles got reversed. It's weird, really."

Shan ducked his head in embarrassment.

"I'll, uh, let you get on with it then. Thanks again for the food, and umm, thanks for listening to me ramble."

"No problem. Help yourself to the rest of the pot if you're still peckish."

The master bedroom was dimly-lit. As usual, Miranda was sitting at her accustomed place—an armchair positioned to face the queen-size bed where Shepard was currently slumbering in. The air of distraction that she sensed in her older sister was out in force, and it was only when she called out softly that Miranda looked up.

"Thanks," Miranda said as she accepted the plate of food.

"How's John?" Oriana asked as she sat down gingerly on the edge of the bed and studied Shepard's sleeping profile. That thick thatch of blond hair and scraggly beard still took getting used to, but what unsettled her was the gauntness of his cheeks. She'd always thought he was invincible and it was sobering to see firsthand he wasn't.

"He just went under again after muttering something about being a pin cushion."

"Umm... Nice to see he hasn't lost his sense of humour."

Miranda gave a breath of a laugh.

"I guess. Although I have to wonder if he was delirious when he said that. His fever still hasn't gone down."

She picked listlessly through the plate as she said this. It was better than before where she'd just leave the food to go cold, Oriana thought. What Shan said about larger-than-life came vividly to mind. It was weird to hear someone speak of two people most dear to her in the galaxy that way. Strangely enough, their heroic personas simply highlighted their human vulnerabilities to her.

"How are _you _holding up?"

Miranda looked up in puzzlement.

"I'm fine. Why do you ask?"

Oriana took a deep breath. _Here comes the hard part._

"It's just you seem distracted. And you haven't slept or ate much in recent days."

"Don't worry about me, Ori. I'm not the one with holes in my body." Miranda's motions slowed down, even though her attention remained wholly on her plate. "Actually I have a favour to ask of you."

"Shoot."

"Can I...bunk with you? Starting from tonight?"

"Of course. But why?"

"I think it's best if there's nothing to distract John while he's convalescing."

Oriana finally couldn't take it anymore.

"Miri, is there something you're not telling me?"

"Why would there be?" Her older twin said tiredly as she kneaded the bridge of her nose. "It'll also give me a chance to rest. You're right. I haven't had a good night's sleep in a while."

It sounded so reasonable Oriana found no way to object. But yet it was impossible for her to dispel her original gut feeling—that something remained off between her sister and Shepard. And later that night, as she lay in bed listening to quiet sounds her sister made across the space between them, she couldn't stop her mental gears from grinding.

Miranda's deep sense of reserve had always been the impenetrable wall between them. It wasn't that she didn't try. Oriana recalled her sister's heartfelt attempts to console her when she went through relationship break-ups before the war. The results were often hilarious and poignant, reminding Oriana for all her arrogance elsewhere, Miranda remained deeply insecure in matters of the heart. One setback would be all it took to send her scuttling back into her shell and refusing to emerge for years.

Familial solidarity be damned, Oriana knew how hard getting along with her sister was. Exacting standards, awkward with displays of affection, a curt and overbearing personality—it was a miracle she and Shepard managed to stay together all these years. In all likelihood, he was the best man for Miranda. And if things didn't work out between them, her older twin wasn't going to find someone else for a long time.

The whole situation had that do-something-or-regret-it kind of vibe. Especially when she suspected her resident status as the damsel-in-distress had a hand in it this time. As she tossed and turned, she made up her mind an intervention was definitely in order. But maybe this time, she should tackle the problem from the other end instead.

The next morning, after breakfast, she ventured again into the gloom room. In its defence, the place was actually brightly-lit during the day, the blinds of the bay windows pulled back to reveal a dismal-looking back garden. Shepard was sitting up in the bed, his torso wrapped thickly in synthetic bandages. His fever had broken during the night, which was another good sign that he was well on his way to recovery. His face lit up as she entered, but then he quickly schooled it into an expression of warm enquiry.

"Hey there."

"Not the version you were looking for?" she teased.

Shepard chuckled weakly.

"Perish the thought. Your sister left a while ago actually."

Oriana perked up as she took up her accustomed place at the edge of the bed. Maybe there wasn't a need to intervene after all. She'd always seen Shepard like an older brother. In many ways, he was closer in personality to her than Miranda and she never had to beat around the bush with him.

"Oh? What did you guys talk about? And how do you feel?"

"Rather like a little kid." He grinned ruefully before turning serious. "She spent the morning grilling me over why my muscles locked up. I've been having these muscle aches lately, but didn't think much about them. During that fight with Kai Leng, my body completely froze over."

And here was another piece of the puzzle. Inwardly, Oriana sighed. Why couldn't things be simpler?

"What did Miri say about that?"

"I don't think she believes me when I say it didn't cross my mind to tell her." He plucked disconsolately at his bandages. "I didn't think it'd be that serious. Anyway, she did some tests and said she'll look up a solution."

She wasn't going to get a better opening than that, she realised.

"Is there something wrong between the two of you? And don't try and act clueless. I got the whole story out of Shan."

Shepard winced.

"Cat's out of the bag, huh? It was my stupidity that got us in this mess in the first place. And I thought we were making good progress." He raised his hands to rub his face. "But this whole 'dying and coming back to life' is throwing a wrench in the works. I really have to stop doing that. The dying part, I mean."

Oriana couldn't stop herself from laughing out loud. But he took it in good humour, smiling at her mirth. She decided then she ought to throw him a line.

"Actually Miri hasn't left your side for the whole week. She's bunking with me right now because the last thing you need is distractions while you jump back on your feet."

The news had the desired effect. His face brightened up again before taking a contemplative cast.

"That makes sense." Here, he looked at her sympathetically. "If you're worried about me and your sister, don't. We'll figure it out, we always do. Probably a good idea she keeps her distance. Cruel to tempt a man when he isn't capable of push ups yet."

That was one of the things she liked about Shepard. Talking to him was never a problem, despite the fact that they rarely had the chance to talk. And hearing what he had to say actually managed to assuage some of the fears she'd felt. Although she had to wonder how much of it was it was him trying to put her at ease.

"Now I wonder what she'll do if I told her what you just said," she mused as she played along, hoping to do the same for him.

"Probably come over and kick my ass. Not that I really mind." He grimaced wanly. "Just not at the moment though."

She looked at him in worry, suddenly reminded of his recent brush with death.

"I should probably let you rest. But are you sure you don't want her to, uh, do that? With Miri, that's the best way to go sometimes."

He laughed and then moved a hand to brace his midriff.

"Ow, don't make me pop a stitch. She'll kick my ass for sure." After a few deep breaths, he said seriously, "We'll be fine, really. But there _is_ something you can do for me. Have you told your sister what you know about that other twin yet?"

"Not yet. You were the personality of the week actually."

"That's not good." He muttered. "I'm getting better already and I don't think we're going anywhere until we get to the bottom of this. And you know how much Miranda tends to overcompensate when it comes to surprises. So help her fill the information gap."

"Don't I know it..." Oriana sighed. "I have the feeling if she could throw me into a box and lock it up to keep me safe, she'd do it. It's bordering on ridiculous. And she just refuses to tell me _anything_."

"Didn't say it'd be easy. But you're the one who can make a difference right now." Shepard commiserated soberly. "And can't say I blame her. Things get hazy when they're personal, especially with your sister. It'd kill her if you come to any harm."

_Look in the mirror_, she wanted to tell him. But he was right. There were things that Cordelia said or accidentally let slip which disturbed her now that she thought of it. And the idea that she could be more useful than a fifth wheel reassured Oriana immensely. So she bid Shepard a reluctant farewell and went off in search of Miranda.

Exactly one week later found Oriana sitting on the porch steps, looking out on the overgrown and weedy back garden. It was cold as hell, but she'd just about had it with the confines of the bungalow. Small places were anathema to her. It was one of the reasons that drew her to terraforming—wide horizons and open, uncluttered spaces eased her heart somehow.

As she'd predicted, her attempt to share her information with Miranda was met with ambiguous reception. Her revelation that Cordelia knew about the inheritance started off fine. But from there, things just went downhill. The offhanded mention that both Cordelia and herself were biotics was met with deep suspicion, one that she had to corroborate with a display. There was no way to see it other than an interrogation.

Oriana had dredged up every distasteful shred of information she could remember, including how Cordelia had called their father's enterprise a genetic dynasty and that there were other copies of them out there, copies that Cordelia undertook to eliminate until the three of them were the only ones left. Or that their youngest sister had been offered as a sacrifice in place of them because of their father's agreement with Cerberus. All that was received with a doubtful expression and little else.

Miranda's reticence finally irritated Oriana to the point where she'd just unloaded everything she knew and left in a huff. They hadn't talked much since, apart from exquisitely polite banalities like "pass the salt, please" at the dining table.

Oriana shivered and drew her legs closer to her body. Earth, what a shithole. It was a popular saying among offworld colonists. Two weeks and she had to agree with them, she was ready to leave and never come back. It was a depressing realisation, given the special place the planet had in terraforming literature and as the cultural heart and birthplace of the human civilisation.

Soft footsteps were her only cues before she felt the weight of a body-warmed coat settle about her shoulders. Miranda appeared beside her and sat down.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

Mulishly, Oriana stayed silent. She had half a mind to shrug the coat off, but finally settled for good old-fashion ignoring instead. Perhaps it was childish, but she felt every right to her anger.

Her older twin sighed softly after a while.

"Ori, I know we haven't talked much. This really isn't how I imagine our latest reunion to be. And I'm sorry I didn't do more to make it easier."

It was such an understatement of the century that Oriana couldn't help snorting. To which Miranda cocked her head in gentle enquiry.

"Does that mean you'll give me a chance to explain?"

Unable to contain herself any longer, she turned around to look her twin in the face.

"It means 'does it matter when you don't believe anything I said?'."

"I never said that, Ori," Miranda said patiently. "It's just what you told me came as such a shock I needed time to think it over."

"So you actually believe me?" Her anger disappeared in a flash. "Then why didn't you say so earlier?"

"Here I am, right? And I'm still trying to get around the fact that you're a biotic," came her sister's thoughtful reply. "I can't imagine how I missed something that big in the first place. Did you undergo any invasive surgery as a child?"

"Huh? I don't think so. I remember my adopted parents panicking when they found out actually. They made me hide the fact, got me tutors so I could control my biotics and not accidentally use them. Maybe that's why you never found out."

"And you didn't think to tell me all this time?"

Oriana made a moue.

"I didn't think it was important. Heck, most of the time, I don't even remember I'm a biotic!"

A distant frown was her response this time. Miranda's eyes had that faraway look that said she was thinking furiously. But none of that was reflected in the pleasant expression she put on when she turned back again.

"I know this is your first trip to Earth, and it hasn't been the textbook definition of interesting or fun. How about when this is over, I'll join you in Elysium for a bit so we can do some catching up? You can show me the sights you keep talking about then."

"That'll be great!" Oriana brightened up and then frowned. "But aren't you jumping the gun here? We still have to solve the problem of Cordelia and her connection to this whole thing."

Guarded reservation dropped into place between them like an emergency bulkhead during a decompression episode.

"You don't have to worry about that. I'll think of something."

It was as though something went _click_ in place within Oriana's mind when she heard this.

"You're just here to fish for information." she breathed in awful realisation. "You aren't planning to tell me _anything_ at all, are you?"

Again with that patient sigh.

"It's not like that, Ori."

"Then what is it?" Oriana retorted bitterly. "Why don't you just admit that was your intention all along?"

With a growl of deep frustration, she rose, not caring that she shrugged off the coat in the process, and began pacing the garden.

"Why can't you talk to me? We're sisters, damn it! Why is it that I get far more out of Shan and John than with you? What does it take to get you to open up?"

It was two weeks of bottled rage finally finding an outlet, and Oriana couldn't care less that she was yelling. Deep consternation was written all over Miranda's face, but all she could think was it was about damn time.

"I was just trying to protect you," came her sister's weak rejoinder after a while. "I didn't think you needed to be saddled with problems you can't solve."

That did it. She'd seen Miranda ream subordinates out for the smallest of mistakes. Even Shepard wasn't immune to her occasional ire, as amply demonstrated. But her older twin had always handled Oriana with kid gloves, always the first to apologise, the first to give in to her more reasonable demands. Armed now with the realisation that that unequivocal love included filtering information for her 'benefit', Oriana couldn't help but see herself being coddled over. Like a child.

"In case you haven't noticed, I'm almost thirty! And you can't say this doesn't concern me. I have every right to know! This last month, I learned far more about my past than I ever did in the last decade. And all of it courtesy of asister I don't trust. While the one I've been depending on won't tell me anything at all!"

With difficulty, Oriana stopped pacing and took a deep breath in an attempt to speak in a reasonable and decisive tone.

"You can't possibly keep the wolves away forever, Miri. Please, for the love of god, stop trying to protect me and start giving me the tools to figure things out for myself."

Miranda regarded her with a stunned look. After which she looked down and began shaking her head fitfully. Her hands, which she'd clasped over her drawn up legs, were tightly clenched until her knuckles showed white.

Oriana was ready to throw her hands up in defeat and return to the bungalow interior when her older sibling finally raised her head.

"You're right. I'm sorry," she said softly, so soft that Oriana had to strain to catch her words. "It does look like I'm pathologically incapable of letting go, doesn't it? But I'll try." Miranda gave a pleading look. "Come sit over here again? I'll explain why it bothers me so much to learn you're biotic."

_How does she do that? Make me feel like I'm an unruly kid even when I'm not? _Oriana wondered as she regained her old place. Brushing that thought aside, she tried to bring her attention in line to receive what had been a hard earned reward.

"I'm an artificial biotic." Miranda took a while to compose her thoughts before she began. "I was born before the prenatal effects of eezo exposure were documented. So I had to be retroactively made one. I won't go into the details, enough to say that if it wasn't for my healing factor, I don't think I'd have survived the experience."

She took a deep breath here.

"The thing is prenatal exposure causes widespread genetic mutation. It's the biggest cause of spontaneous abortions and stillbirths. Even with the survivors, there are very obvious genetic markers. I've been comparing our DNA records this past week—I had a copy of yours made from when you were a baby—they're identical in every way. If you weren't retroactively made one, I don't see how it's possible you can be a biotic."

Genetic theory was never one of Oriana's favourite subjects in school. And dusting out that knowledge from the repository of her mind again took effort, one made more difficult by her twin's obvious disquiet. In the lack of information, her mind could only generate conclusions that were nothing short of disturbing.

Her older sister bit her lip and nodded at the unease on Oriana's face.

"Other outstanding questions include why did our father insist on cloning us? What was his reason for making so many identical copies? How does his idea of a genetic dynasty tie in to all this? I suspect we won't get answers to any of these until we access the files in the tower."

"What about Cordelia and Cerberus? How do they come in?"

Miranda looked at her earnestly.

"You have to believe me, Ori. I didn't know she existed until now. And I have no idea why I'm listed as the sole beneficiary in our father's will. But it wouldn't be the first or last time the Illusive Man continues to pull the strings from the grave. He told me our father severed all ties with Cerberus when I first joined. I had no reason to think otherwise."

It was like the opening of the floodgates. From a drought, Oriana felt as if she was being deluged by an information torrent. And it took some mental juggling to try and keep track of all the pieces. But it _was_ relieving to learn that Miranda had nothing to do with Cerberus's involvement of Cordelia. Just about anything related to that organisation had been a 'do not broach' subject and the hints over the years also suggested her older twin remained deeply divided on that particular period of her life.

_Be careful what you wish for. _

"Cordelia's plan to eliminate all of copies of herself and take over my identity makes twisted sense actually. I don't know what disturbs me more—that she spent years understudying me or the things Cerberus did to her." Miranda continued with a headshake. "From our brief interaction, she reminds me of who I used to be. It's not surprising now that I know most of what she has on me are my Cerberus files. But the fact that I have a younger sibling out there who's been using my former self as a role model..."

"Miri, you're who you are," Oriana interrupted firmly, unable to take her sister's self-castigation any longer. "Whatever you did in the past doesn't invalidate that. Heck, you were with Cerberus when you started looking out for me."

"Easy for you to say," Miranda grimaced. "I know you're right. For better or for worse, I wouldn't be here if not for Cerberus. Anyway, we're getting side-tracked—the question we have to ask is can Cordelia be convinced to change her mind? If she's been on the course to eliminate us all this time, I'm not sure that's possible."

Thoughts raced furiously through Oriana's mind. There was no denying her sympathy for Cordelia had taken a beating, but she continued to cling onto the belief that their youngest sibling should have the chance at a normal life. The sticking point was if Miranda hadn't rescued her, it would've been herself who'd be given to Cerberus as sacrificial lamb. But she shook her head slowly, not willing to share that sentiment just yet.

"I don't know... I mean, just look at both of us, how different we are. Even after two weeks with Cordelia, I can't say I know what makes her tick. All I know is her mind is a dark, dark place." She sighed deeply. "And I don't think she's one-hundred percent on her rocker either."

"Who would be under years of torture? At any rate, I suspect the only way to flush Cordelia and Kai Leng out is to make our entrance into the tower as noisy as possible. And that's going to have to wait until John's operational again."

"How is he today?"

It was the first unqualified smile she'd seen from Miranda for days, and it was a transformation that illuminated her face.

"Doing his best to be a terrible patient. It's a good sign."

"Is he trying to do push ups?"

"Among other things. He's just not ready for strenuous activities yet."

Oriana couldn't stop laughing despite Miranda's look of puzzlement. The world felt lighter after her mirth subsided. On Shepard's assurance, she'd stopped prying into the couple's problems, and from her sister's abject relief, it seemed he'd been given a second chance after all. Cordelia remained problematic, but with things finally going their way, they _were_ entitled to some optimism.

"It's nothing," Oriana said happily. "I'm glad he's getting better. I'm glad things are getting better." A fierce affection welled up for her endearingly awkward sibling, and impulsively, she reached across and gave Miranda a hug. "And thanks, Miri. Thanks for telling me everything."

She felt Miranda's body stiffen before relaxing as she returned the embrace. They finally disengaged, but kept arms around each other's shoulders, spending the remaining time in a companionable silence until their duties pulled them apart again.


	15. Chapter 5 Part 2

Shepard couldn't help his smile at the conversation he'd just overheard. Silently, he closed the bay window, left open to admit fresh cool air, and walked back to the bed to sit down stiffly.

He was glad the dam had finally broken between the two sisters. That was one thing off his mind. The next step was to get back on his feet as soon as possible. The pain that'd been plaguing him for the past two weeks was mostly gone except for the occasional twinge. Twinges that happened when he overexerted himself, which was what Miranda walked into just now.

The torso brace he now had to wear on top of bandages hampered movement, but he'd promised her not to remove it. The distance between them had all but disappeared in recent days, and she'd been genuinely solicitous about his welfare. But they hadn't broached the issue of their relationship. He'd actually felt sheepish when Oriana laughed. There was no denying the slant of his thoughts as discomfort abated with every passing day. The months of—it wasn't exactly teasing, but it had that effect—had left him deeply aware of how much he wanted Miranda, and he knew the time would come soon when that mutual tension would rear its head again.

But there wasn't anything to do until they talked about it. The fact was there was a lot they had to talk about. At the top of that list was his most recent brush with death. On his part, Shepard couldn't help but mentally side-step the issue of his personal mortality. It wasn't fey bravado. Mostly, he felt numbed to death, along with his dealing of it. He'd been accused of being blood gutted, of losing his sense of perspective in what constituted acceptable casualties during the war.

The murmurs of discontent had begun before he made the choice to win the war at the cost of five billion human lives. The strike against the Reaper stronghold in the dark of intergalactic space had been the lynchpin, a move touted as instrumental in ending the war of wars. Twenty-two men and women pledged their lives to the mission, three survived to tell the tale—a tale that even one year later contained glaring holes in its account and abject silence on the part of the participants...

-~o~-

_**2194 CE, Somewhere in Intergalactic Space**_

The blink of an eye was all it took to traverse the millions of light years between the Citadel in the heart of the Milky Way and the far reaches of intergalactic space. And it was a deeply alien landscape the prototypical stealth frigate slowly found itself drifting through, an alien landscape by any measure, unlike anything in the history of the galaxy for the past several million years.

The frigate, based on the _Normandy_ _SR_ design_,_ was running on zero engine activity and total radio silence, its cockpit filled to the brim with officers. Viewports on the lower decks were similarly occupied as everyone on the team drank in the sight of their final destination.

That destination was the Reaper base, located in a darkness so deep and so far away from any stellar bodies that to the visible eye, the only indication of its shape and size were the millions of cold blinking lights that defied imagination as they stretched into what seemed like infinity.

Passive scanners took over where biological senses failed, revealing a shape like a torus, but with contours along the lines of a blood corpuscle. One that stretched at least a thousand kilometres in diameter, leaving a hole in the middle that housed a relay which took up about one percent of that space, a space they were currently drifting through. The deep silence of systems on standby played counterpoint to the stupefying awe that permeated the tiny, inhabited space that was the frigate.

"We're in. All systems nominal. Drift is...nonexistent, too minute to detect." Their pilot's faint voice finally broke the silence. "Sensors indicate no hostiles in the immediate vicinity."

Shepard shook himself out of his stupor.

"Keep stealth up, do a slow pass of the space we're in. Make it look like we're on a dead drift and divert all remaining power to scanners. I want precise telemetry numbers, configuration readings, x-rays of the damn place—everything we can cough up before we go in."

"Aye, aye, sir."

With that, the spell broke for the rest of the deck. Quiet murmurs and shuffling began as people gathered into small groups to discuss the latest findings among themselves.

"No drift at all?"

Jacob, a member of the Alliance team and Shepard's personal aide, naturally approached to ask the pertinent question.

"Makes sense that they can control the drift in relays." Shepard said quietly. "Any degree here would risk ships colliding with that superstructure, or hostiles appearing out beyond in dark space. This way, they know exactly where everything is."

"So where's the welcoming party?"

"I'm guessing no Reaper wanted to miss the once per fifty-thousand-year eat-all-you-can buffet."

The journey to the derelict Citadel, given up as lost after the battle of 2188, had been a surrealistic experience. The lights that had given the behemoth station its legendary allure and reputation as the centre of galactic civilisation were uniformly dark, and the structure now drifted in an unstable orbit around the Widow star. Two of its famed wards hung at yawning angles, tethered to the presidium ring by strips of twisted metal. One of the arms, Tayseri Ward, had already torn off and spun into the star's burning atmosphere.

Husks now populated the Citadel, the gristly fate of those left to fend for themselves when the station was abandoned to the Reapers once the relay system switch was destroyed. Entering through gaping holes made where ward arms tore away, they'd fought their brief way to the one remaining bulkhead that blocked access to the massive mass effect core used to power the station.

They saw the remains of the _SR2_ strewn along the way, a sobering relic from that last battle, but gave it little more than a passing glance. Priority now laid elsewhere. Access to the core had finally been possible with intel gathered from studying Reaper technology. And it was with bated breath they watched as the mobile geth platform known as Legion opened up the core to flip another switch, one that transformed the still-intact presidium ring into a live relay leading to the Reaper base.

Special provision had been made to allow Legion to directly interface with the frigate's systems. And the geth's single focal eye calibrated and recalibrated as it drank in information from the ship's sensors and scanners.

On Shepard's instructions, they were now drifting slowly through the giant space that housed the relay exit towards the main body of superstructure. It was made of the strange black metallic substance used in Reaper structures, except what would normally be a smooth surface was infected with mysterious bulbous protrusions, like an organic creature suffering from hives, or a blood corpuscle losing its cellular integrity under a viral attack.

"What do you think those are for, Legion?"

Shepard asked as he came up beside the geth. Several others followed suit.

"We cannot ascertain definitively. The bigger extensions are statistically likely to be docking stations, Reaper repair and installation platforms. The smaller gun placements, vents and maintenance outlets."

Colonel Silus Thracius, head of the turian delegation, breathed disbelief. "That's thousands of platforms we're talking about here..."

"Yes. We think there is one for every Reaper in existence."

"What's the likelihood any of these are monitored?"

"Geth do not know this territory, Shepard-Admiral. We find it impossible to apply pure-synthetic reasoning to Old Machines. All inlets will be monitored with a probability approaching certainty if monitoring exists. Ship emissions will betray our presence but man-sized intruders may pass undetected."

Shepard crossed his arms, a deep frown etched across his forehead.

"We have to assume we can slip in on foot. There's no way to carry out this mission otherwise. And against all that we don't know, trying to infiltrating via the vents or maintenance outlets will only compound our problems."

"I find the simple notion of walking in through the front door refreshing, but what about the ship? How long can it hide its emissions?" That pragmatic question came from Matriarch Indira who oversaw the asari commando unit.

"We've discharged our drive core and heatsinks before making our way here. On low power, the ship can stay stealthed for the next two months or so. I won't risk it docking with the base. It'll tether outside via a hard line which we'll use to grapple our way in and out."

Indira nodded sagely. "Just so long we don't endanger our means of getting back."

He smiled grimly at her. "I suspect that may be the least of our problems. None of which we can anticipate until we step into the base itself. Anyone else with concerns to voice?"

Shepard levelled his gaze at the various representatives, key members of a team hastily cobbled together from various species, and waited perfunctorily for further objections. There were none. And he was glad he didn't have to deal with any.

They were closing in on the seventh year of the Reaper War. The now-uninhabited wastelands that were the Terminus systems and the Attican Traverse stood as stark testimony to the might of the Reapers. No species was spared, no planet unravaged. The guerrilla tactic of crippling one long enough to disable its mass effect core worked, but in the last four years, the tally of kills numbered in mere hundreds. Thousands of Reapers remained, an unstoppable onslaught that was, even now, moving in on the various home worlds.

Weeks were all they had to accomplish the task at hand—destroy the Reaper comm-network and the base if possible—before there was nothing left of the galaxy to save.

And that was why the next few days as the team inched slowly but inexorably through the behemoth of a base began to eat into morale. There was no resistance, no detectable lifeforms even, husks or otherwise. The ease which they were allowed to walk the vast and darkened corridors only dug deeper into Shepard's disquiet. The sense of safety was altogether deceptive. And he couldn't help the feeling that it wasn't so much that the whole place was abandoned, but more like they were considered gnats, not even worth any attention.

Shepard raised his hand, signalling a break. He'd ordered near-total electronic silence, to reduce the likelihood of giving away their presence to an enemy that wielded technology far beyond their comprehension. The only other means of communication was a mechanical device that amplified their voices through the sparse atmosphere within a tightly limited range. Even so, no one felt inclined to conversation.

All members of the team wore specially-designed suits that would sustain them independently for up to a month. Chemical scrubbers supplied breathable air and bodily wastes were removed through an efficient but otherwise uncomfortable interface. All the safeguards were in place to prevent the ubiquitous indoctrination nanites from infecting them. Which meant there was absolutely nothing to distract their minds with, not even food, since that, along with water, was fed into their bodies intravenously.

It gave ample opportunity for the alien configuration of the place to work on nerves, human and non-human alike. Despite the assured integrity of his suit, Shepard had the strangest feeling that the walls throbbed. The black surfaces drank light with an intensity that was unsettling, confounding planes where walls and floors began. Absolute darkness crouched mere metres away, and sparse running lights of the base only materialise when they were up close. It was as if all the empty space was clogged with _something_ that didn't register to visible sight.

That general sense of dread was compounded by the latest computer-generated projections on the progress of the war being waged back in the galaxy. As recent as yesterday, Reaper fleets were predicted to reach Palaven and Sur'kesh within one week. In two weeks, Thessia would join them. Earth was already in the process of being harvested, with projections that ran casualty numbers tallying to millions daily. That had prompted Shepard to enforce double shifts, compelling them to range further and longer away from the ship.

Dully, he watched as one of the asari commandos dropped an empty protein paste pack on the floor and listened to the sound of his own breathing until he couldn't bear it any longer. Legion had once again took the opportunity of a break to scrutinise their surroundings. Not willing to stew in thoughts that grew darker with every second, Shepard made a beeline for the geth.

"Initial scanning indicates the walls are more biological than synthetic in nature." The geth's brow plates drew back engagingly as he approached.

"So my mind wasn't playing tricks on me when I thought I saw them move?"

"Our passive sensors are necessarily limited. Minute oscillations of surface areas would require more sophisticated instruments to detect."

"Don't think knowing that will help me sleep easier at night," Shepard muttered, as he crossed his arms. "I want to talk about that sealed-off area we passed by earlier actually. That was the second similar setup we saw in as many days. They look like reinforced housing to encase an energy source of some sort to me."

"Yes. We believe the Old Machines use anti-matter reactions as their primary source of energy. The emission signatures we detect behind those areas support that hypothesis. These will be placed at regular intervals around the torus for maximum efficiency."

Thoughts raced furiously through Shepard's mind as the geth said this. Identifying the Reaper comm-network as the link they had to break to stop the cycle of extinction was the reason for their mission. But he'd already made up his mind that given the chance to destroy the base, he would take it. Except after seeing firsthand the size of the place, he wasn't sure there was enough firepower in the galaxy to do that. Until now.

"Any chance we can trigger a chain reaction to those cores, overload them to cripple the base, if not outright destroy it?"

"We do not rule out the possibility." It took Shepard awhile to realise that uncertainty coloured Legion's mechanical voice here. "It will depend on our ability to interface with the base systems."

He frowned, and then remembered to keep his voice low.

"Is there something I should know about, Legion?"

"Shepard-Admiral, we remain unable to interface with the base systems. It is uncertain if we can send out the signal to incapacitate all Old Machines when we reach the communication centre."

Shepard winced as the geth, failing to catch his cue, announced all of that at a decibel that raised murmurs from everyone within earshot.

"How long were you going to hide this from us?"

Colonel Thracinus growled his displeasure as he came up.

It was impossible not to notice his hostile attitude echoed in the ugly expressions behind many faceplates. Legion was immune to the mental and physical fatigue that plagued the team. And in the past few days, Shepard knew he wasn't imagining the growing sense of resentment and distrust towards the geth. Being synthetic, geth couldn't be harvested, and so far, the Reapers had shown no interest in them. From that, it was easy to construe that the geth simply didn't care as much as the rest of the galaxy in eliminating the Reaper threat.

Legion's brow plates flapped in bewildered confusion.

"We do not understand. It was not our intention to obfuscate news on our inability to breach the language of the Old Machines."

"You sure weren't forthcoming either. Did you take us for fools?"

The next logical step would be to suspect the geth in cahoots with the Reapers.

"Stop it, both of you!" Shepard growled. "I won't tolerate discord, especially now!"

Behind his faceplate, Thracinus clacked his mandibles in a grinding fashion. Finally, he took one perfunctory step back, but his predator-like beady eyes never left the geth. With an inward sigh, Shepard realised the usual approach of getting both parties to stand down before taking them aside for a separate conference wasn't going to work this time. He moved to interpose his body in between, and looked the turian colonel in the eye.

"Your attitude is unjust and uncalled for, Colonel." He schooled his voice to neutrality, but pitched it for the benefit of the entire team. "The geth were instrumental in discovering the real purpose of indoctrination. Because of them, we know it's the means of communication between the Reapers and their minions. Without all of that, we would never know where to strike within the base."

Once he knew he had everyone's attention, he spoke more quietly.

"Legion and the geth have no reason to sabotage this mission. Waiting a few more weeks would achieve the same effect. Weeks _we_ do not have. This has stopped being a war long ago. We're fighting against our extinction. Every moment we spend in here is paid for with the lives of millions, lives we have no right to squander bickering amongst ourselves."

Grudgingly, Thracinus stepped back and then turned away. At that sign, the rest of the team slowly clambered to their feet, tightening harnesses in preparation to move on. Shepard gave Legion an absent-minded pat on the shoulder.

"We'll talk later, Legion. In the meantime, see if you can figure out between all your programs how to communicate with the base. That's priority."

The quiet reassurance Shepard projected into his voice rang false even to his ears. Mentally, he had to wonder how long more was he able to keep at it, presenting the stoic face of calm and confidence to those under his command. It'd stopped being a war for him years ago. He could no longer recall a time where he didn't live or breathe battle plans, or a day where his mind wasn't full of casualty numbers.

Tiredly, he moved forward to take lead, nodding at the designated scout to check the route ahead.

"Touchy bunch of paranoids, huh?"

Shepard looked up as Jacob took the place at his right side.

"Can't say I blame them." he murmured for the other man's benefit. "This place eats into minds, even without indoctrination."

Jacob snorted.

"Don't deny that. But I've got no use for people who pick fights out on the lawn when the house is burning."

Shepard gave a puff of a laugh as he adjusted the settings of his shotgun.

"Glad _you_ haven't lost sight of the bigger picture."

"Some of us have to. Only way to keep the circus running."

Despite breaking away from Cerberus, Jacob's return to the Alliance hadn't been well-received. Vagaries of war had whittled down the list of people Shepard counted as friends to a mere handful, and he'd done his best to keep track of the remaining few. By all accounts, Jacob had suffered the same treatment he'd undergone himself at the start of the war—distrust at his Cerberus connection, scepticism about his allegiance—all without the buffer of a higher rank.

Both men knew very well he was here now solely on Shepard's request. The bright-eyed lieutenant Shepard had known from before was now a stranger to him, cynical and frustrated with the cards he'd been dealt with.

"Not that I don't appreciate your candour, Jacob. But just remember to keep it between the both of us."

A grimace contorted Jacob's face.

"I'm not a fool, Shepard. I know who my friends and enemies are. Assuming we're still alive for me to count them as either after this is over."

_That's not what I meant._ Shepard wanted to clarify, but found it more trouble than was worth. He took a deep breath as he surveyed the throbbing blackness around them, and wished himself elsewhere for the thousandth time. Not long now, thank god.

"It'll be over soon, one way or another."

Jacob looked at him curiously, the strange interplay of light and shadow painting his expression with a stark sobriety.

"There's only one way this can end, Shepard. And that's with all the Reapers going down the galaxy's biggest black hole."

"That's what's going to happen here."

That did nothing to dispel the other man's doubtful look.

"Can't say I totally blame that ass Thracinus for getting all pissy with Legion not telling us he doesn't know how to communicate with the base. That doesn't worry you at all?"

Suddenly, Shepard felt too tired to explain himself further.

"What do you expect me to do? Rap him across the knuckles?" He let the note of finality creep into his voice. "Done is done, Jacob. Legion will figure out a way. And when he does, we'll need to find that comm-centre. Not pick fights out on the lawn."

Silence hung like a miasma between them. What friendship they'd shared had long since soured. How and when that process begun, Shepard had no idea. All he knew was talking to Jacob now often grated on his nerves and he had the suspicion the other man felt the same.

A mote of light suddenly materialised across the space in front of them. Soft curses filled the dead air until they realised it was their scout rounding a bend.

"Movement up ahead, twenty metres beyond this bend and closing in slowly."

"What is it, Sergeant?"

"Can't say," was the laconic reply. "It plays tricks on the eye. Didn't want to risk finding out."

Shepard nodded.

"Jacob, Thracinus, Legion—you three, come with me. Indira, lead everyone else to our last rest stop. Keep a safe distance and backtrack on our route if necessary. We'll regroup later."

They killed all lights and allowed their eyes to be accustomed to the faint illumination of the base for guidance. The strange darkness was more palpable than ever, almost a physical force that seemed to press down on them. Legion took point as they traversed the space, following the directions given by the scout.

The thing could be heard long before it came into view. It was as described—a darker patch of blackness against black, visible only when it moved. And it moved ponderously, accompanied by a keening moan like a sonic train. The outlines blurred and reassembled themselves in the dark, delineating into a hulking creature that wore metallic plates similar to a Reaper.

Except there was no way it could be a Reaper. They watched in fascination as the thing lumbered towards a panel of sorts, a silvery inclined surface placed at shoulder-height, nondescript in every other way. A vertical split separated into halves what would normally be the head—it was impossible to tell since the creature didn't seem to have eyes—and from that orifice emerged a slender stalk ending with a pulsating suction cup. The thing plunged its proboscis into the surface of the panel and then retracted it before lumbering off again, this time, in their direction.

Quickly, Shepard signalled to make a wide berth around it. The manoeuvre went unnoticed by the thing, but now they could only trail it from a distance, and pray that the rest of the squad was far away from here.

As they slowly tracked its progress, the unsettling impressions finally coalesced into a whole in Shepard's mind. It could only be a husk, one from a species he'd never seen before. Which meant the thing must date at least fifty-thousand years old, back to the last galactic harvest. It was likely as the organic parts failed, they were replaced by more and more synthetics until the creature began to resemble a mini Reaper. It wouldn't surprise him if it possessed the tenacity and the strength of one too.

He was wracking his mind on where its weak spots might be when the scenario he dreaded happened. Screams and gunfire erupted dead ahead. Before them, the creature lumbered onwards. Shepard gripped his gun convulsively with one hand, while his other darted out to stop Jacob's onward rush. He shook his head slowly but firmly at the other man's look of outrage.

Taking over the lead from Legion, Shepard inched his way forward, a deliberate stance to discourage anyone thinking to overtake him. He steeled himself to ignore the cries, now carrying more than a tinge of hysteria, and indiscriminate gunfire that grew louder and louder.

The husk rounded the corner and disappeared. It was one of the hardest things to do. Holding one hand up, Shepard halted their advance. It'd become increasingly clear the battle was lost. There was no other way to explain the lengthening bouts of silence and sporadic gunfire.

Finally, he took the chance and left the group to peer around the corner. Three survivors concentrated all their fire at one of the husk creatures as they beat a futile retreat. The other way was cut off by two similar-looking husks. Shepard looked on as his heavy-weapons specialist fired a rocket at the looming husk. The creature shrugged it off and advanced relentlessly.

There was nothing to do but watch as those things tore up what remained of the team. The last one standing was an asari commando who tried to make a break for it. A husk's extended proboscis glowed blue and biotically pulled her back into the fray. The hapless asari was torn into three portions by the creatures working in tandem.

They stood around, rocking back and forth as their high-pitched keening filled the air, and then as if on some unspoken order, began lumbering off—this time towards the other end of the chamber, back through where the squad had come from a mere hour ago.

Shepard closed his eyes and finally gestured for the group to join him. But just as they made their approach into the carnage ground, the floor began undulating visibly. They stopped on their tracks and watched in stunned silence as the strewn bodies, all sixteen of them, along with pools of blood were slowly absorbed into the strange metallic surface. Slowly, the bodies became formless lumps, and then those lumps gradually subsided until like before, an empty chamber greeted their eyes.

A scraping sound echoed faintly across the space, and all four of them jerked to belated alertness. From the other exit on the far end, a pale human face and its salarian counterpart slowly emerged, wearing horrified expressions Shepard knew was echoed on their own faces.

Wordlessly, the two groups reunited. No one said anything as they left the area and pushed on until Legion located a ground-level vent sizeable enough to fit all six of them within. It was only then that they dared to stop.

"How the hell did the both of you get away?" Jacob demanded of the other two survivors in a harsh whisper.

"Matriarch Indira sent us to scout the back way," supplied Sabra, the salarian STG member in a small voice. "We spotted one of them and doubled back to warn the team, but they were already under attack."

"She did the right thing. And I'm glad the both of you survived." Shepard interrupted quietly. "We all saw what those things are capable of. Six of us wouldn't have changed the outcome."

"What in the name of the gods are they? And why didn't anyone say anything about the base being able to do that?" Thracinus growled as his eyes narrowed on Legion accusingly. "Don't tell us you know nothing about this, geth."

Picking fights out on the lawn indeed, Shepard sighed inwardly. The taste of fear remained coppery in his mouth. But he had to admit they'd screwed up. They'd been lulled into complacency and allowed paranoia to slip through their defences. The ambush simply completed what had begun the moment they took their first steps in this place.

"Let's not argue between ourselves." He said firmly. "I suspect those things are ancient husks, with their organic parts replaced by Reaper tech. And I think the base is alive. It's some kind of giant Reaper. There's no other way to explain what we saw."

"We agree with your assessments, Shepard-Admiral." Legion chimed in. "It is also likely the husks were alerted to our presence from organic waste packets discarded along the way. We advise against the practice for future reference."

Everyone apart from Legion looked at each other with deeply disturbed expressions.

"We should return to the ship." Thracinus muttered finally. "It—they know we're here now, and there's no way we can fight those things."

"No. If we do that, we may as well give up on the mission." Shepard took in the starkly sober looks from all around. "There's no guarantee we can come back in, and we'll lose days of progress. We have no choice but to keep going. The best course of action against those things was to avoid them, regardless of our numbers. And that's what we'll do from now on. What's the status of our supplies?"

Reluctantly, everyone ran a check and concluded they were good for at least a week. Stealth was the only thing that would save them now. Good thing it was far easier for six men to hide their presence, Shepard thought grimly.

Nonetheless, they continued to run into a number of close shaves over the next six days, each arguably closer than the one before. The vast corridors, once empty, became regularly patrolled by those husk creatures. Tempers grew frayed, with everyone jumping at shadows at one point or another. Sheer military discipline and desperation from the lack of alternatives were the only things that kept them going.

Bracing one leg against the other wall, Shepard winced from aching muscles as he checked the seals on his suit. They were now holed up in a vent, having called it a day. Vents were a misnomer. The ones they'd found comfortably fitted everyone with room for more. It was a sobering reminder that the corridors they'd traversed through in the first few days actually had roofs that stretch over a hundred metres above with only inadequate lighting imbuing them with that deceptively sense of smallness.

Such open places had become too dangerous. And the maze of shafts they now travelled through were disorienting to the point the team had to depend entirely on Legion to chart the way. There was, however, a glimmer of hope. The geth had identified an area of strange emissions and they were inexorably heading that direction no matter the bewildering route they took. The rest of the squad had gone to sleep with Legion watching one end. Assured of his suit integrity, Shepard rose and walked over to the other sentry point.

Jan de Silva, Alliance marine and their main scout plunged a stim shot into his arm via his suit system and sighed deeply. A man of few words in his fifties, he'd served in the First Contact War among other career highlights, but considered himself a grunt at heart. He was a soldier Shepard could trust to follow without question.

Not this time apparently. Jan glanced at his approach before turning back to survey the dim expanse beyond the shaft.

"How much longer we have to keep at this, sir?"

Their circumstances were special enough that Shepard found no way to fault him. Still, he sat down and surreptitiously replaced his urine bag to buy time to formulate an answer. No longer did they dare leave any item behind in case the base detected their presence again.

"As long as it takes," Shepard eventually conceded. "If this mission fails, it's only a matter of time before the Reapers wipe out the galaxy."

"Huh." Jan said simply. "Looks like we can't fail then."

For some reason, his admission grated Shepard far less than Jacob's. And it reminded him how surly he'd become recently. On that thought, he decided he ought to offer some insight even though he wasn't obliged to.

"Legion's found an area of high activity with emission patterns similar to Reaper beacons. There's a good chance it's the comm-centre. Or a husk barracks." His joke was reciprocated with a slow grin here. "Hopefully we'll find out tomorrow."

"Good. Like to get out of this shithole, go home."

Shepard chuckled at the understatement.

"You've got someone waiting back there for you, Sergeant?"

"I'd show you her picture, 'cept it's in my back pocket. And from the feel of it, half way down my buttcrack by now." Jan gave a sly grin before clarifying. "Talking about my six-year old niece. You?"

He was taken aback from hearing the sergeant talk so candidly as much as having his own question thrown back at him. And for the umpteenth time, Shepard raised his hands to rub his face and its itchy beard growth only to remember the blasted helmet was in the way.

"There was this girl—a woman." He confessed finally and not without a hint of regret. "But we haven't seen each other in years. I don't even know if there's anything left between us." He shook his head at his sudden bout of sentimentality. "No family of your own?"

Jan shrugged and smiled wryly.

"Not the committing sort. Can't soldier well if I know my death's gonna cause hardship. Different folks, different strokes. My brother and his family give me the personal stake to see this through. That's good enough."

It brought to mind the countless of condolence letters he'd had to write to stricken families over the years, informing them of their loved one's death. Some of those had been people he'd known personally, others, just names and numbers on the roster. But what struck him about all of them had been the way they'd carried out their duties as if it'd counted for _something_.

_What am I fighting for? _

Shepard no longer knew the answer to that question. Ideals like freedom or right to exist were just causes, but rang empty ultimately. With every friend and the personal connection they represented gone, he'd stopped caring just that little bit more. And it was the first time in a long time he wondered when he had started functioning on autopilot, doing things because they were the right things to do. Thank god, he decided tiredly, everything would be over soon.

"Thanks for the chat, Sergeant. I should get some sleep. My turn for sentry duty tomorrow," he rose slowly to his feet and then allowed himself to say, "I'd like to see that picture of your niece by the way, but guess that'll have to wait till the day after."

Jan gave a soft bark of a laugh.

"Amen to that, sir."

It was scant hours later when they had to move out again. Shepard's rest had been fitful. It was impossible not to worry worry over how Legion still had no idea on interfacing with the system once they reach their destination. The one command they hoped to issue at the communication centre would permanently incapacitate all indoctrination nanites in existence. Years of painstaking research had revealed that it was the means by which the various entities and programs that formed a Reaper communicated. The most ironic thing had been the discovery that indoctrination was merely a side effect in that process. The nanites were simply programmed to convert organic bodies into biosnynthetic husks to facilitate a mental link between Reapers and their various minions.

The various governments had grudgingly concluded the best time to issue that killswitch was when most of the Reapers were concentrated on assaulting their homeworlds. Transmitting the signal at that point would incapacitate all Reapers, making it possible for armed forces to quickly board them in their immobilised states to destroy their cores, thus eliminating most of the galactic threat in one move.

Except that depended entirely on issuing the code before the mother planets became barren wastelands. Almost every species' homeworld was under attack by now, with Thessia completing the list in just a few days' time.

They were making a thankfully uneventful traverse of yet another vent shaft when Legion suddenly stopped dead on its tracks, its brow flaps contracting and expanding as its single eye adjusted furiously.

"What is it, Legion?"

"Shepard-Admiral, we have concluded our destination is up ahead. The next turn off will drop us into the communication centre."

Muted cheers of relief filled the space. But it was a wiser and more cautious team Shepard led now, especially knowing that the end was near and slowly, they inched their way towards the drop off.

They peered through the vent opening, and saw a giant room filled with the alien-looking machinery far below. Mysterious tubes sprouted like tentacles out of these contraptions. If it was the comm-centre, those tubes would be teeming with newly-manufactured nanites, waiting to be released. Inclined banks of empty panels surrounded the bases of these contraptions and Shepard had the feeling he'd seen them before, except he couldn't recall where.

Thracinus drank in the sight and grunted.

"Looks like it. Have you come up with a way to crack the system, geth?"

"He's working on it, same way he guided our steps this past week," Shepard said firmly. "We'll camp up here, catch a breather and figure out our next course of action."

Wordlessly, the squad dispersed to carry out his command. Despite its surly tone, Thracinus's question had been entirely reasonable and quietly, Shepard accosted Legion, knowing the rest of the squad wouldn't fail to notice the act.

"We're running out of time, Legion. Give me something to work with, even if it's some half-assed idea."

"We are facing a conundrum, Shepard-Admiral. Six-hundred and thirty-three programs have concluded insufficient data to make any judgement. Three-hundred and seventy-four assert no species wired for the interface exist in the galaxy. One-hundred and seventy-six programs have abstained from a decision."

"What's the reason for abstaining?"

Legion remained silent before finally saying, "Unable to process your question. This unit concludes a chance to study the communication room is necessary before the final verdict can be issued."

Being a self-contained and autonomous gestalt consciousness, Legion had, in the course of the past few years, picked up many ungeth-like characteristics. In layman's terms, they involved displays of sentiments much like empathy and other vestigial emotions. It was a puzzling state of being for a synthetic being that Legion's thousand over programs were often in conflict nowadays.

"We can grapple down for a closer look tomorrow."

"We are agreeable to that."

It turned out the less hectic pace did little to improve tempers. As the rest of the day wore on, inaction simply gave frustration a stronger foothold, although to everyone's credit, they restrained it the best they could. They were also closing on the last of their supplies, a point nobody wanted to mention. The room below continued to remain empty, as if beyond husk patrol routes. They could only take as indication what entity controlled the base still had no idea why they were here.

The next day, Shepard grappled down into the control room with Legion and watched as the geth walked round and round the various machinery. Legion eventually stopped before a bank of inclined panels, its visual lenses calibrating furiously. Soon after, it plunged an arm through the surface. Nothing happened. But the sight finally caused the pieces to click resoundingly in Shepard's mind.

_Oh god, no, no, no..._

"Those hundred odd programs..." he said in a deathly voice. "They think it takes a husk to interface with the base, don't they?"

There was a long pause here.

"Yes."

"Have _you_ reached a conclusion?"

"Yes... Someone in the team has to undergo indoctrination."

Shepard closed his eyes. He wanted to laugh, to cry, but nothing came out. It was as if he'd been emptied out, numbed to the point where he could no longer cough up the relevant emotions.

They rejoined the team in silence with Jan hoisting them back up at Shepard's command. In their absence, an altercation had taken place. The other three members of the team stood in confrontation before turning to the new arrivals.

"How long do you intend to wait, Admiral? Earth can't hold out forever." Jacob fired the opening question. His tone was cold and his expression formal. They hadn't spoken personally in the last few days, but Shepard realised he no longer cared anymore.

"Earth? What about Sur'Kesh? Or Palaven? Or even Thessia?" Sabra, the STG member bristled in response, obviously continuing the argument that'd taken place before.

There was no point prolonging the inevitable, Shepard decided.

"Legion and I have concluded one of us needs to undergo indoctrination to communicate with the base. Only biosynthetics are wired for the job. It will be a struggle to hold on to freewill once the nanites begin to invade the mind. That person needs to have the resolve to do that. It's a death warrant. But there's no other way."

Stunned silence greeted his revelation. But inevitably, the finger-pointing started again.

"If Earth is so important to the scheme of things, perhaps you'd be willing to sacrifice yourself, lieutenant?" Thracinus stared at Jacob even if the vitriol in his voice was muted.

"I'll do it."

All eyes swivelled to Jan who was methodically stowing away grappling equipment. The sergeant finally stopped what he was doing and looked at Shepard.

"I'm the expendable one here. I think I can hold out till the signal needs to be issued," he said, as though no one else existed in the space between them. _Do you doubt I can do it?_ His even gaze seemed to ask.

Jan was right. In the order of things, he was the most expendable, given that there remained the remote chance the war might still drag on after this.

"I don't doubt your resolve, Sergeant," Shepard said softly after a while.

"Settled then."

Shepard swallowed against the lump in his throat, and found it near impossible. Jacob smashed a fist against the vent wall and then sat down in frustrated defeat.

"Thank you, Sergeant. Thank you for all of us."

There was no question every surface of the base would be teeming with indoctrination nanites. Any compromised seal would allow them into their suits. And it was almost ceremonious the way Jan removed his dogtags and handed them over to Shepard before he broke his seals. The rest of the team sat around mutely, heads bowed.

"Feels cold." He said conversationally before turning to Shepard. "Promise me you'll look at that picture, sir?"

"I will, Sergeant. I'll take it with me out of here."

Indoctrination rate had been sped up since the allied forces had embarked on their guerrilla tactics a few years back. And it didn't take long before the effects became visible. In less than a day, a bluish hue coloured Jan's skin even as it began to turn translucent, revealing the biosynthetic components that were rapidly transforming and taking over his biological systems.

As prelude for what was to come, they grappled down to the control panels the next day. With slow, jerky motions, Jan plunged his arm into one of the silvery surfaces.

"Oh god, I can understand it, I can feel the base." He whispered in distant horror. "It's talking to me..."

"Can you identify how to create the chain-reaction to blow up the anti-matter cores?"

"Yes... The killswitch too... Issue the signal now?"

"No, we wait." Shepard said tonelessly.

He spent as much time as he could talking to the sergeant, trying to help the man stay focused on fighting the indoctrination effect. He talked about his best hopes, his worst fears, anchoring them with deeply personal anecdotes until everything sounded hollow to his ears. It was delaying the inevitable, but every bit of connection would give Jan the strength to resist the mental takeover.

The day after, Jan asked to be tied up. Better to be safe than sorry, he stuttered almost incoherently in a distinctly metallic voice.

"How long more? God, how long more do we have to wait?" Jacob demanded in outright distraught.

Shepard gritted his teeth.

"One more day."

"In the name of—_why?_ Those fucking things have done their work. Any second now, he's going to lose it. His mind is almost gone!"

"Tomorrow the Reapers will have reached Thessia. Over ninety-five percent of them will be in position for board-and-destroy tactics once the killswitch is issued. It's the only way to be sure we get them all." Shepard explained and then said more quietly. "Jan knows the stakes. He will last it out."

"Tomorrow, today, does it matter? Projections are just that—projections! How can you stand by and watch this horror show play out? At this rate, there wouldn't be a Earth left to save! Do you even give a damn anymore?"

With a growl of frustration, Jacob went over and began shaking Jan by the shoulders.

"Are you there, Sergeant? For your own sake, for Earth's sake, listen to me—issue that signal now!"

"Back off, Jacob. That's an order." When Jacob ignored him, Shepard fired a warning shot. "I will shoot to kill if I have to, lieutenant." He said coldly.

"_You are mad!"_

"Perhaps. But while I'm in charge, you will obey my command."

He said all of this loudly for the convenience of Thracinus, Sabra and Legion who looked on wordlessly. Jacob stared at him as though he was a husk or a Reaper.

"Earth can't take more of this! Every day we wait, millions more die!" Jacob shouted in plaintive bewilderment. "And how can you keep Jan suffering like that? He's a fellow human being for god's sake!"

"Casualties are not the issue here," Shepard replied. "We'll have lost if we start second-guessing how everyone carries out their duty. I have to believe our fleets can hold off the Reapers according to the projections. The same way I believe Jan can do what he says he can."

Jacob stared at him lividly, his hands clenched in a supreme act of control.

"I won't go against you, not when every person counts right now," he finally growled with promised retribution in his eyes. "But if we survive, I _will_ report this."

"You can do whatever you think is right after this."

The wait would've been impossible to bear if not for the fact that the attempt to care was so hard to muster. Despite the temptation to say fuck it all, Shepard found doubts surfacing. Were his actions justified? Did he have the right to wait? Mercilessly, he quashed them as they appeared. There was no room for second-guessing whatsoever. That way simply led to more madness.

"Not long now", he murmured at the sergeant who'd now lost the ability to talk. He had to believe that Jan still understood what he was saying, the same way he reassured himself with those words.

A glance at his omni-tool indicated the Reapers would be surrounding Thessia by now if the projections held true. Mere hours stood between now and the moment to deliver the killswitch. But as it turned out, it was hours they didn't have. Slowly at first and then becoming perceptible louder, familiar moaning sounds began to filter through the small space.

"Movement up ahead!" Thracinus yelled from the sentry point. "They look like regular husks!"

With a curse, Jacob rose and ran forward to reinforce the turian. Sabra followed immediately after. Wild gunfire began to light up the far end of the vent and Thracinus's screams at being overwhelmed followed soon after.

"There's too many of them!"

_Will it ever end? _Shepard wondered dully as he secured a rappelling line on autopilot.

"Into the chamber, now!"

He barked as he hooked up a harness around Jan and with Legion's help, eased the sergeant through the opening.

In frantic haste, the rest of the team slid down the hundred metres into the empty chamber. The last man, Sabra rappelled down as fast as he could with husks swarming down on top of him. Half-way down, he fired at the length to destroy the route. He screamed in pain as he landed with a bone-crunching crash.

The strategy ultimately didn't matter. The husks simply dropped down, breaking arms and legs in the process. They continued their advance, some of them crawling across the floor.

"Th—that's Indira!" Jacob cried in outrage as he hauled Sabra back towards the group. "They've turned our people into husks and sent them back at us!"

It made sickening sense. Their extended stay in one place had finally gave away their location. The vents were too small for the ancient husks to enter. What better way to flush the survivors out than use their former teammates against them?

Shepard worked to make every shot matter, and watched in numbed despair as the shadowy hulks of ancient husks began to materialise at the far back. It was now or never. They were close enough to the deadline that the difference in the number of Reapers they caught in the net would be negligible.

"Hold the line." He instructed before turning to grip Jan by the arms. All semblance of humanity had left the man. Staring into those glowing eyes and that gaping mouth, he willed the force of command into his voice, issuing the specific line they'd both agreed would be the password.

"Do it, Jan."

He looked on with desperate hope that his faith wasn't misplaced as the sergeant moaned incoherently and then rose to shamble towards a bank of consoles. With agonising slowness, Jan finally plunged his arms into one of the panels.

There was no indication that anything momentous had happened; the effect when it came began almost imperceptibly. Slight tremors that grew stronger and stronger were the first indication. Gradually, in the far distance, explosions began to rock the base as one by one, the anti-matter cores overloaded, taking the next in line along with it.

Right in front of them, the husks, both their former team-mates as well as the ancient versions, pressed on with the assault. Shepard watched spectator-like as Sabra's head exploded in a red display of gore from a biotic attack by one of the ancient husks.

Then just as suddenly, all of their assailants crumbled to the floor like marionettes with their strings cut. The three of them—Jacob, Legion and Shepard could only stared, shell-shocked, at the change in events.

That was it. With all the indoctrination nanites permanently out of commission, monstrosities such as husks could no longer exist. As final testimony to that, the thing that was Jan de Silva laid in a lifeless heap before the console.

The slow reverberation the base had been emitting nonstop throbbed frantically before slowing down like the death-throes of a mortally-wounded animal. Eventually, that also died out. The frigate had its contingency plans. Upon reaching a docking bay, all they had to do was fire off a flare and it would pick them up.

For the first time, Shepard became aware of the deep silence that had fallen throughout the place. He had no idea it could be so deafening and relieving at the same time.

Like in a dream, he walked over to Jan and began stripping away the man's suit to retrieve the photo with slow motions, as if performing a last rite. She was as lovely as the sergeant had described her.

And with that act, it was as if a great weight was lifted away at last. Incognizant of the tears that trickled down his face, Shepard finally latched onto one thought to repeat it again and again in his mind.

_It's over. It's finally over._


	16. Chapter 5 Part 3

_**2195 CE, Tasmania, Earth (Present Day)**_

It was with a much lighter heart that Miranda went about her duties for the rest of the day. There was finally a sense that things were going her way after weeks of frustration and setbacks.

Banking the hovercar towards the bungalow, she couldn't help but smile and shake her head as she replayed her conversation with Oriana earlier. Her younger twin had been justified in her anger at being treated like a child. It was one of the pitfalls of being a distant protector. In her mind, Oriana remained a minor who needed crucial decisions to be made for her. It'd been such an unconscious and familiar attitude on Miranda's part that she'd felt chagrined on being called out on it.

As for the problem of their _other_ sister, things looked far less optimistic. She had been entirely truthful when she said the outstanding questions would have to wait for Shepard's recovery.

She'd spent the rest of the day scouring the extranet, going through medical journals in an attempt to puzzle out his muscle problem. The root of it probably laid with combat enhancements dating back to the early post-Lazarus days. It would require a specialist to obtain a proper diagnosis, but muscle relaxants ought to be good for a palliative. Hence her quick trip to a pharmacy in Hobart where she could be assured the specific type was in stock.

Night had fallen and the warm glow of lights greeted her as Miranda parked the car on the landing pad. Shan and Oriana were cleaning up after dinner when she entered the bungalow.

"Hey you're back. Want dinner?"

"I've eaten at Hobart, thanks. Did John join you?"

"Yeah. He's gone back to his room though. He's been kind of glum too."

She processed that news without further thought as she went to the room she shared with Oriana to slip into a comfortable tank-top and a pair of slacks.

Shepard insisted on taking his meals with everyone else now even though being on his feet for long periods of time still drained him. She knew he was trying to return to a normal routine. He hated being an invalid, almost as much as she was beginning to tire of him as one.

More than ever, Miranda wanted to pick his brain on the new developments of their mission, but decided he really didn't need more distractions. It was her constant worry that he would push himself too far, and as she entered his room, she half-expected to find him engaging in some strenuous exercise she forbade.

To her surprise, he was sitting quietly on the bed, staring at a crumpled-looking 2D photo. He put it away as the door opened, and the smile he gave her looked forced, as though he'd pasted it on for her benefit.

"Aren't visiting hours over?"

"Not for the doctor," she said wryly, and then was worried that she was imposing her presence. This was a new development. Shepard had been relatively cheerful the whole time during his convalescence, but now she had to wonder if it was simply an act.

She lifted the box of newly-purchased pills as official reason for her visit.

"I think I may have a temporary solution for your muscle problems. Orally-applied relaxants."

Shepard frowned in scepticism.

"That simple?"

"It _is_ temporary until we can get you checked by a specialist. The dosage and timing has to be pretty specific. If you like, we'll do a trial run tomorrow."

He looked at her, his expression indeterminate.

"You still don't believe me when I say I didn't mean to hide it, do you?"

Miranda bit her lip and took a seat on the bed. That fateful conversation the night before they embarked on saving Oriana and the catastrophic series of events that took place after came to mind inevitably. This was the first time since then that they were broaching anything related to that subject again.

"I believe you," she finally said as she gave him a direct look. "I do. The point is this needs to go both ways. It'll never work if we keep second guessing each other."

"Thanks."

He glanced down before looking up, his eyes serious and attentive. "And you're right. No more second guessing."

There was brief silence before Shepard spoke up again. "While we're at it, I—overheard your conversation with Oriana this morning. Left the window open for some fresh air, and you girls just happened to pick that spot..."

Miranda replayed the earlier conversation yet again in her mind.

"That's fine. It saves me needing to give you a briefing. Now everyone's on the same wavelength." She saw an opening here and decided she may as well give it a shot. "I've been meaning to ask actually. Do you have any input to share about Kai Leng and Cordelia?"

"I don't think I'll be much help with the genetic angle, or with Cordelia, frankly. As far as I can tell, she has no intentions of doing me any favours," he said slowly but with the equanimity of factual analysis. "As for Kai Leng, I think we've established one on one, I'm no longer a match for him. But if our next step is going to be the tower, we may be able to leverage on your legitimate access to our advantage."

"That's what I thought too. Good, we're on the same page."

He smiled at her with what came across as a pensive and sad expression.

"Relieving, isn't it? Getting the assurance that what you're doing is right?"

The change in behaviour was so decidedly strange that she was finally compelled to ask, "Is there something you want to tell me? Ori mentioned you didn't look too happy during dinner."

Shepard remained silent for a while. After a few minutes, he retrieved the picture he was looking at when she entered the room. It was a picture of a little girl hugging what looked like a giant soft toy.

"I've got a confession to make," he said softly as he gazed at the picture. "It'll take a long time to tell, but I'm hoping you'd hear me out."

His voice had that odd timbre which she'd learned to read as the edge of desperation. It was the same tone he used when he recounted how he had to sacrifice three hundred thousand batarians to prevent the Reapers from invading through the Alpha relay. Not to mention back when he'd accosted her at the space station above New Canton. This wasn't going to be some complaint about his physical condition or what-not, she realised.

"I'll listen for as long as you like, John." She moved to sit comfortably on the bed, arms going around to encircle her raised legs. "Go ahead."

It took him a few more moments to compose his thoughts. And then bit by bit, Shepard began relating the pivotal mission that took place in intergalactic space that eventually ended the Reaper War.

It soon became obvious he had no intentions to spare the details, not even the agonising portions. He kept his emotional responses to the minimal and as the account went further, his voice became more monotonous. In a way, it was a relief. The experience was painful enough from the heartrending account and the fact that he kept wringing a balled fist with his other hand.

"Towards the end, I wondered if I was in the right frame of mind to make the decision. All I could think was for it to be over. It was like a contagion, a data error—where the problems are compounded down the line once you slip up at the start. And I slipped up."

Shepard's voice broke from the emotion and the long telling as he trailed off at the conclusion.

_So the dam finally breaks..._

It was with some difficulty that Miranda disengaged herself from the pathos of his account to look closely at the facts. News filtered down garbled, within the Alliance command system, to become hearsay and rumours. She was used to it and usually discounted them. The generalities were well known—a full squad of some of the best soldiers in the galaxy came together for the task. Only three made it out alive—Shepard, Jacob and Legion.

It was always a given that there was more to the story, but a large part of her was so relieved that the war was over, she felt no inclination to pursue the truth from Shepard. The news that he was responsible for the death of five billion human lives was tragic, but in the end, casualties were a reality of war. There was no escaping it.

Deep silence filled the room until she shook her head.

"What you said at the start about feeling relief at being assured you're doing the right thing—," she said. "—that was a throwaway, wasn't it?"

Shepard shrugged.

"Right, wrong—they've stopped making sense." He gave a brief laugh, but it was devoid of humour. "Maybe what I need is someone to make the decisions for me."

_I can't leave New Canton. I just can't. I can't even trust myself to do anything right anymore._

The signs were there all along. It was never about whether Shepard did the right thing when he delayed the issue of the killswitch. That he did was a given. The demise of the Reaper threat was testimony to that. She knew the feeling well. It was the sense of being overwhelmed, traumatised and tired beyond relief until every judgement was steeped in doubt. Her own test experiment with the indoctrination nanites had been like that. And even till today, she couldn't say how much of her decision stemmed from suicidal thoughts that came with abject despair, and how much of it was necessity.

No, she didn't need an emotional commentary. Like a lightning bolt illuminating the night sky, Miranda finally understood Shepard's method of insanity after all this time. By standing trial, he was ready to put his fate in the hands of others. He wouldn't have to decide anymore.

But was that it? After all, Shepard did make a decision—he chose to come and help her.

He'd made it amply clear that his reason for doing so was her. In her more sombre moments, it was an obligation she couldn't help but feel burdened under. But other times, it was empowering to realise that she might be the one to offer him a chance to become invested again in his personal future.

"That's been quite apparent," she said as diffidently as she could. "Have you realised I've asked several times what you intend to do after this, and you've never given me a proper answer?"

"Will you believe me when I say I don't know the answer?"

He accompanied that question with an ironic smile, seeming intent on turning the whole thing into a black comedy. It was more preferable than apathy, but not by a long shot.

_You can be the one to make the difference._

The voice in her head was almost seductive in its reasoning. Once again, it came down to her in the end—if she was willing to take that leap of faith. Miranda had always known she was drawn to men with aspirations beyond themselves, men who strive to affect the galaxy with their actions and change it for the better.

It was impossible for her not to take into consideration Shepard's account of what happened at the Reaper Base, the momentous sense of what had been achieved juxtaposed by what he suffered. Simply put, she couldn't help her heart going out to him. Her reaction at the Alliance's treatment of Shepard, how they squandered his contributions by setting him up as a political scapegoat had been placed on a slow burner since his recount. And now that she'd rationalised her feelings, her sense of outrage surprised her.

But at the same time, it was more corroboration to what she had gradually made her mind up on following the harrowing days waiting for Shepard to pull through.

It had to wait, she decided.

It _was_ difficult to imagine what he could do now that the Alliance was no longer an option. One thing was clear, Saviour of the Galaxy might be a near-impossible act to top, but the galaxy could still benefit greatly from Shepard's vision and talents.

"What about seeking asylum with the asari government, locating to Thessia?" she asked as she stretched to ease out the kinks of her muscles, her tone deliberately light. "The Alliance will never make incursions on another ally's homeworld. Perhaps you could find work as a negotiator or a consultant of sorts?"

For the first time tonight, genuine amusement appeared in Shepard's eyes.

"I got to admit that sounds as though it could work," he said somewhat noncommittally.

Miranda bit her lip. It was patchwork of hastily-assembled options she presented, but her goal was to try and kickstart his mind into considering the various options. She may be the key to making Shepard care about his future again to some capacity, but she had no desire to dictate how he led his life or come across as wanting to do so.

"I know you've more than earned the right to rest, but I also know you're not the kind to sit around. The work does sound cut out for you. And I feel you thrive on it whether you realise it or not."

"Thanks. I'll think about it. I guess... I'll just have to keep going at it till something sticks."

She'd tried her best to skirt around what she'd made up her mind on, but they were obviously going nowhere at this rate. With a deep breath, she steeled herself and took the plunge.

"I'm not planning this for you alone, John. It's for both of us."

Shepard stared at her as though he couldn't believe his ears.

"You're joking, right?" he asked weakly. "There's no option for me other than exile. We're talking about becoming outlaws in Alliance-controlled space."

"I wasn't joking. We can—"

He interrupted her, his voice growing louder.

"You'll never be able to visit Oriana on Elysium, you can never come back to Earth again, not legitimately. Is that the kind of life you want to lead?"

She made a sound of impatience.

"I was branded a terrorist most of my adult life. I've been on the run since I was sixteen. I have had so many aliases trying to stay one step ahead of my father and working covert missions for Cerberus that I've lost count. None of this is new to me."

"That was because you didn't have much of a choice." Shepard pointed out in a more reasonable tone. "I've heard what they say about you and your work in the Alliance, Miranda. They'd go down on their knees if you ever resign your commission. And not to mention the rest of the galaxy—" He sighed in frustration. "Fuck it, you _can't_ tell me you don't give a damn about throwing all of that away."

A perverse part of Miranda was tempted to declare that she didn't care, but Shepard had struck an irrefutable kernel of truth. To call the early days of her mandatory service with the Alliance because of her Cerberus past rocky was an understatement. Distrust of her motives and abilities was never slow to rear its head around every corner. It'd been the kind of reception she had expected, not to mention all too entirely familiar with. There was nothing to do about it. Knowing full well that the war effort took precedence, she had gritted her teeth, swallowed her pride and did her job the best she could.

That had changed dramatically as her work begun to bear fruit. From pariah to war hero, the transition had been startling and deeply ironic. Most of the time, Miranda alternated between being amused and irritated by the new respect and deference accorded to her. The biggest relief had been the end to all the smothering animosity and deliberate second-guessing. Getting entrusted with more and more important tasks, knowing that she was valued and had a rightful place in the order of things—that sense of empowered legitimacy and the exhilarating sensation of sharing solidarity with thousands, all working towards a common goal—those were things she'd never thought to experience in her life.

Strange to think of all that as collateral damage now, and how she would have to return to the shadowy existence of an outcast and the constant obfuscation and paranoia it entailed.

"It's my choice," she said softly but firmly after a long while. "The same way it was yours to come help me save Ori. I'm ready to accept all the consequences that come along with it likewise, good and bad."

Shepard simply gave her an absolutely stunned look. After a moment, he looked down and began shaking his head.

"I never wanted this for you," he finally said in a tremulous voice. "You deserve so much better."

It was nearly impossible to swallow past the lump in her throat. In the end, she reached to take his hand in a fierce grip, one which he returned with the same intensity. Heartfelt words were never her forte and even Shepard, who was gifted with a silvered tongue, was content to stay silent. When he finally looked up again, there was definite hope in his eyes, tentative as it was.

"I got to say the bad really edges out the good big time for you at the moment." He said with a shaky laugh. "Looks like I've got a lot of compensation to make."

His attempt to lighten the mood brought to mind the one outstanding issue that had been in the forefront of her mind all this time. If tonight was going to be a confession session, they might as well go the whole nine yards.

"There's nothing to make up to me for, John. It's my choice," she reiterated quietly. "In fact, I'd rather you cared about what happens to yourself again."

She was met with wary puzzlement here.

"Not sure I get what you mean."

"I'm talking about the way you dispatched those mercs back at the complex, or how you took off to deal with Kai Leng. You can't keep functioning on autopilot. It's like—you've stopped _caring,_ even about basic things such as life and death."

"I know it wasn't the best idea to run after Kai Leng that way, even though we agreed I'd be the one to deal with him..." Shepard trailed off into unconvincing silence here.

Miranda sighed.

"I hate having to bring this up, but I suspect it's the same problem. If you were your usual self, you would've sought help for your muscle aches long before this. What was going through your mind?"

He kept his eyes down, his attention focused on their clasped hands. Finally, his fingers tightened around hers in a decisive squeeze.

"You're right." Shepard confessed. "I thought nothing about it. Even though there were times when they stiffened up so badly I had to massage feeling back into them."

It was cruel, but she steeled her resolve to let him stew on the implications of the point she felt had to be made. Finally, she said, "You need to stop this self-destructive behaviour, John. We can't build a future together if you aren't invested in your own."

He released her hand to rub his face hard.

"I'll try. But it's so hard. It's like... like being cast adrift and rudderless, no landmarks in sight. I keep trying to find the shore, but all I see is water everywhere."

All that was needed to complete the picture was the literal albatross around his neck, Miranda winced mentally. She recalled saying once to Shepard that she couldn't be his crutch. But it was obvious he needed a lifeline of sorts to begin at least.

After some hesitation, she began saying, "I know the feeling. I, well—during the time I was assigned to oversee the creation of a vaccine against indoctrination nanites, I...went through one of the lowest periods of my life. Mordin had just passed away, I hadn't heard from you in months, and there didn't seem to be a way we could survive against the Reapers. When we finally engineered a prototype, I used myself as a test subject."

She drew a deep breath here, faintly aware that Shepard was listening attentively.

"I don't know what possessed me. The only thing I latched my mind on was I was the best candidate. It felt like my prerogative, like it was the only option opened to me." She gave a soft laugh. "That I survived the experience was dumb luck, really. But I just want to say I know what it's like to face the numbness beyond despair, where nothing you do seem to matter."

"Why didn't you tell me this before?"

There was an unmistakeable plaintive note in Shepard's voice.

"What was I to say? That I may have attempted suicide? Besides, you had more than enough problems on your plate. Then and now. And frankly, I don't want to recall that time if I can help it."

He had nothing to say to this.

"There're still abnormal levels of nanites in my body. It'd take years for their numbers to decline entirely," she looked down in embarrassment here. "That's why I pushed you away when we kissed that night back in New Canton. I'd almost forgotten about it, and then I was afraid I could still infect you."

"They're harmless now," he said quietly. "Even if they weren't, it wouldn't have mattered to me."

"Now I know, for both accounts." Miranda laughed in exasperated irony. "God, we're such a sorry pair, aren't we? I wish we'd talked about all this earlier. It would've saved so much trouble."

Shepard smiled commiseration.

"Whatever it took, here we are." Here, he glanced down before looking up again, newfound determination clear as daylight in his eyes. "And I promise you, I'll do my best to get out of this funk. You're right. I can't keep going on like this."

It was like the last piece finally clicked into place when he said that. Not knowing what else to say, she finally smiled and nodded relieved confirmation at him.

The world felt far lighter that everything was out in the open. And already, her mind was racing ahead, making plans. Miranda was glad she had the foresight to begin the transfer of her inheritance to an intergalactic bank in anticipation of trouble from the Alliance. The most outstanding issue, really, was dealing with Cordelia and finding out what was exactly in that tower that her youngest sibling thought warranted killing for access.

Hopefully, that particular set of problems could be resolved in the least messy way possible, unlikely as that sounded. She couldn't help her unreasonable optimism. It'd been so long since things had begun going her way that she felt almost lightheaded.

As if he caught her line of thought, Shepard asked with a quirk on his lips, "So when can I get rid of this damn brace and the bandages, doctor? They're hot as hell and chaff like mad."

"I'd half-expected you to remove that brace long ago," she tossed back. "But I suppose we should see how well you're recovering."

Uncrossing her legs, she shifted forward to assist him in removing the stiff cloth brace. The last of the bandages unravelled to reveal the wounds had closed nicely and a tender layer of skin had grown over to protect them. No signs of scabbing or inflammation, she saw with satisfaction.

"Looks good actually." She pressed gently against an area below his ribcage. "Does that hurt?"

He squirmed away at her touch.

"Tickles."

She continued her examination through more wriggling before shaking her head with a laugh.

"You do know I can't give a proper sign-off if you don't cooperate?"

"It wouldn't be so ticklish if it hurt, trust me. So give me that clean bill of health already, Miranda, I've got lots of things that need doing."

She sighed in exasperation.

"Fine, you're cured. Just—go easy with strenuous activities for now."

He gave her one of the most delightful grins she'd ever seen on his face.

"Don't mind me if I don't. Been wanting to do this for a long time." Saying that, he tugged at the hand rested against his chest, pulling her forward so she fell into his arms.

Her yelp of protest was muffled by his mouth covering hers as he drew her into a hard kiss that soon made clear his intention. Objections like how he shouldn't be exerting himself took all of one second to melt away. The rhythm of Shepard's heartbeat beneath her hand, the movement of muscles in his arms as he tightened his embrace—everything brought home once again how close she'd come to losing him permanently this time.

Arms braced around his neck, she lifted herself closer to him, her body replying with the same readiness he obviously felt. It soon became hard to catch their breath and she felt his deep reluctance as Shepard broke off the kiss.

"Don't mind you if you don't?" Miranda laughed, knowing immediately the source of his problem. "Looks like you're not up for it yet."

He gave her a doleful look, his breathing coming out short and fast from exertion.

"I was expecting some help actually."

"Mmm..."

She disengaged herself to sit up again, hands going to move pillows to create soft backing behind him. She pushed him back against it, so he remained sitting upright and then climbed onto his lap to straddle him on opened knees.

"Not too heavy for you?" she teased.

"Perfect."

He rumbled satisfaction from the base of his throat and moved his hands to grab her ass, bringing them more snugly together before claiming her mouth again.

His tongue slid smoothly against hers, exploring every bit of her mouth in a way that said he hadn't lost his touch. Shepard was the most skilful lover she'd ever had, but he'd always been coy over how he got to be so good. Knowing now what she knew from New Calcutta, she couldn't help but feel humbled at being given insight into a part of him he'd obviously taken great pains to hide from everyone else.

Like everything else, it was another part to the man Miranda felt like she was rediscovering this whole time, a continuous process that created a sense of connection so deep she'd never imagine sharing with another person.

Everything went to stoke her ardour to a level not experienced before, making it hard to hold back in concern for his weakened condition. He obviously didn't believe in that, and gradually she began to feel his growing erection pressing out the fabric of his shorts, pushing against her sex in a promise of things to come.

She ground against him experimentally and was rewarded by a moan that reverberated through their mouths and a further hardening of his member. Taking that for encouragement, she started moving rhythmically, kneading her lower body against his, revelling in the growing pressure.

Shepard was alternating between running his hands up and down the length of her bare back and squeezing her ass when he grasped the hem of her tank-top to remove it. She assisted him, snapping off the straps of her bra to toss it aside before cupping her own breasts, ready for his ministrations.

He responded by burying his face into her cleavage, running his beard-roughened cheeks against the soft skin while his fingers reached to squeeze her already-hardened nipples, causing her to moan in pleasure. When he finally clamped down on her left nipple with his mouth, sucking hard on it, she felt as though she could come from the sensation alone.

Abruptly, she paused her motions, causing him to look up at her in faint disappointment.

"Too fast," she gasped. "It's been too long."

He nodded understanding, his chest heaving harshly against her. He was still pushing his limits whether he knew it or not, but she didn't have the heart to remind him. Perhaps this was an irresponsible act, a challenge to fate, but above all else, it was an affirmation of life for the both of them having dealt with nothing but death and loss all these years. And if that package came along with its own set of inconveniences, so be it.

They resumed, more slowly and gently this time. Shepard brought his arms around her waist, arching her back as he rubbed his face against her neck, his tongue darting to lick the shallow depression where her clavicles met. She ran her hand through his thick thatch of blond hair, clutching it in fistfuls when he returned a hand to tend to her breast, his callused fingers making circles around the sensitised nipple, giving it a slow squeeze now and then.

Every fibre of Miranda's body screamed for immediate release. To say it was too long was a massive understatement. All the teasing between them before only served to inflame every recalled sensation. Pleasuring herself to assuage her own need all this time had been nothing to compare to this. And now with their newfound understanding, it was like threatening to open the floodgates.

But even going slowly, there was a limit. And she found hers far sooner than she'd like. Shepard had been shifting uncomfortably for a while, his erection now straining hard against his shorts. Every movement he made pushed it harder against her moist sex and she could only whimper from the lack of relief.

They took it as far as they could until they finally looked at each other in an unspoken agreement. She clambered off to help him remove his shorts. His deep sigh was almost comical as his length finally sprung free, but just as she'd intended, his attention was soon riveted by the sight of her removing the rest of her clothing at an angle that left no doubt as to how much she was ready for him.

He quirked his brow in appreciation as he braced his hands behind him and thrust his hips forward for her. It was his way of saying 'ready when you are', but this time she decided to play with him a little.

Crawling between his outstretched legs, she stopped before him, and surveyed his erection critically.

"You're not ready."

He gave her such a look of outrage that Miranda had to bite her lip to stop from laughing.

"It could be you're tired out. Here, let me help."

She'd had to shave his chest clean for the operation, but there remained a fine line of hair that ran down his midriff. She'd always like that part of him, it was like a trail that guided her unerringly as she traced an idle finger downwards before grasping the base of his shaft in a firm grip. He drew an audible breath at the contact and then relaxed.

The length of it was hot to touch and she could feel the throbbing beneath her fingers that belied her assertion. She tried not to laugh again as his expression came to mind while she ran her hand along the smooth skin until she reached the tip. Lowering her head, she placed her mouth over it.

"Oh, fuck!"

Shepard gave a strangled gasp as she began taking in as much of his length as she could, swirling her tongue around it. Gradually, she felt his fingers thread gently through her hair as she slid her lips up and down the expanse.

A low guttural moan resounded deep within his throat and beneath her tongue, she could feel him harden a little more. She smiled her satisfaction around a mouthful of him. But it'd been as long for him as it was for her and it was with reluctance that she finally released him. He gave a deep shudder that said her timing had been correct. Closing his eyes, he drew several deep breaths before looking at her.

"Almost had to stop you there."

"Don't worry, that's not how I wanted you either."

He gave a rueful grin.

"I'm entirely at your mercy, aren't I?"

It was reminiscent of their more casual lovemaking sessions where keeping tallies of who had the edge over who was a little pastime. But hearing it now was a sobering reminder of the number of times she'd felt put out by him, or how she'd tested his patience again and again, all of which he'd bore without a complaint. The time to even out that balance was long overdue.

She looked at him quietly and then shook her head.

"Not at all."

Leaning forward, she gave him a tender kiss, before climbing back onto his lap again, her eyes staying on his the whole time as she slowly eased herself onto his length. They shared a tentative smile when he was as deep as possible within her. The feel of him inside her again, stretching her passage was exquisite, but more importantly, it brought on a sense of completion, like the sealing of an unspoken pact.

She brought her hands to rest around his neck even as he kept his braced behind him on the bed. After a moment, she flexed her knees and began moving. Slowly at first and then gathering speed, she focused on the feel of his length almost sliding out of her before she drove herself down on him again.

Shepard had a look of intense concentration on his face even though he was content to let her do the work. She knew what he was doing—he was doing his best to hold back so he wouldn't spoil this first time in a long time for her. It went back again to how she'd seen him done terrible but necessary things as a soldier, experienced him at his most personally bullheaded and obtuse, but there was one thing that never changed with him—he would move mountains if he thought that made her happy.

Ever so gently, she drew his head close before tucking it against her neck, saying with that what failed for her as words. Against her, she felt Shepard's chest heave deeply as he savoured their intimacy. Their bodies were soon slick with sweat rubbing against each other, and their breathing a quick and harsh synchrony. Having gone without all this time, it didn't take long for either of them.

She climaxed with a shuddering moan, her inner muscles spasming convulsively around his length. He followed soon after, his whole body stiffening with a jolt that held true until he emptied himself within her.

Contrary to Miranda's earlier expectations, there was nothing mind-blowing or world-shattering to this particular reunion. Nothing like the excitement or sense of adventure that accompanied their first few couplings onboard the _Normandy_. Perhaps it was the effect of taking things slow, or perhaps it was the realisation that somehow this marked the onset of a new life and a new phase for the both of them.

They clung on to each other for support before finally disengaging to collapse tiredly on the bed. Reaching across the space between them, Shepard drew her in for a long and leisurely kiss before spooning himself against her back, those hands that once held the fate of billions in their grasp, now cradling her with a gentleness that belied their bloody history.

"It... feels like I've finally come home."

Quiet awe suffused his voice.

"It does feel that way, doesn't it?"

Miranda shifted around to face him, her fingers moving to trace his eyebrows in a lazy fashion.

Dismay slowly filled her as she noted the new lines of age and worry his face had acquired. He was younger than her, but already he looked older. Shepard had never stinted on pushing his body beyond its limits, and he'd used himself hard all these years. Even if that hadn't been the case, she knew if they remained together for the rest of their lives, she would have to watch him grow old and die while she remained relatively young. Of all the genetic gifts her father had bestowed upon her, she'd never thought of this one as a curse before.

He must have caught the minute hitch in her breathing for he asked, "Is there something wrong?"

"It can wait." She tugged at a few strands of his unruly beard to change the subject. "Do you intend to trim this, or are you thinking to impersonate a caveman?"

Shepard scratched his chin idly.

"And a couple of weeks ago, I was afraid it wasn't thick enough. I'll trim the beard tomorrow. Will need help with my hair though."

"I suppose I could try my hand at it," she allowed.

He chuckled, a slight heaving of his chest.

"I'm kind of scared to see how that'll turn out."

"Beggars can't be choosers," she huffed and shifted against him. "Unless you'd rather Ori or Shan do it. In which case, I'll do my best to ignore you for a week or so."

He smiled at her indulgently as he planted a kiss on her lips.

"C'mon, you know you're the first one I'd go to."

Miranda shook her head as they shared a laugh at their silliness. With some difficulty, she resolved to be grateful for what they would have and not dwell on the inevitable. After all, there was no knowing what tomorrow might bring—something Shepard had reminded her long ago. But now she knew unequivocally that it was worth it. He was worth it, along with the good and the bad.

This was when she became aware of a particular part of his body making its presence known again between them.

"I was wondering when you'd be ready for seconds," she teased as she wriggled pointedly against him.

"Figured I'd wait till I'm ready for thirds too," he said, grinning like a boy before the tree on Christmas morning.

"Careful you don't bite off more than you can chew..."

"Ha!" His brows twitched in response to the challenge. "Watch me."

Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to say that. Not that she minded, but it certainly looked like sleep was going to be very low on the list tonight...


	17. Chapter 5 Part 4

On Elysium, the entire bungalow would be flooded by the late-morning sun by now, which was exactly how her house looked like. Oriana imagined that if Earth wasn't covered by the blanket of a nuclear winter, it would be the same. Nonetheless, she found herself missing the colony she'd been stationed at with a pang that surprised her.

She and Shan had dallied over a late breakfast and were in the process of cleaning up. Something momentous had happened last night, she was sure of it. Miranda never returned to the room they shared, and even though Shepard's door signalled it wasn't locked, neither of them had any desire to find out firsthand if she was in there with him. They'd know soon enough, unless the couple decided they had to make up for all their lost time within the span of one day.

Mentally hiccupping on the images that thought brought on, Oriana decided she had to find something else to think of. She eyed Shan and was reminded of the conversation they had earlier. He had been unusually reticent over the reason why he'd tagged along before and as Shepard got better over this recent week, he seemed to retreat further and further into his shell. Their little excursion on Earth had to end eventually, the onset of which would be marked by the day Shepard was ready to join in their—she dubbed—Assault of Eldfell Tower.

On her part, now that she finally understood his official capacity as Shepard's gaoler, Oriana had been hard-pressed to contain her rising sense of resentment when she thought about it. Not long now. And if what she'd imagined did take place last night, this would be the last outstanding issue they had control over. Better to nip the problem in the bud than have an ugly surprise presented to them when the whole thing was over.

She was passing clean dishes to him to dry when she finally steeled herself and blurted, "Shan? Can I ask you something?"

He looked at her questioningly.

"When this is all over, are you're going to drag John off to a cell in an Alliance prison?"

Immediately, a deep wariness slammed down on his expression, which told her this definitely laid at the heart of his silence the whole week.

"I'm hoping I don't have to." He finally confessed.

She couldn't help her laugh of disbelief here.

"Do you think he'll go along with you meekly?"

"I don't think that," after which he added in a toneless voice. "And it's not something we've talked about."

A sinking feeling began to suffuse her, the kind that came from having the initial elation of finding a friend soured by knowledge of their hidden agenda. It bothered her more than something like this usually would, during a time when she was beginning to find out just how few her friends were.

With effort, she tried to keep hostility out of her tone.

"Then what exactly did you talk about?"

Shan looked down at the plate he was drying. Finally, he gave up all pretence and put both cloth and dish down.

"Admiral Shepard—he told me he felt bad that he was going to get me into trouble. Nobody could've stopped him if he wanted to break parole badly enough. And if I just stood aside and let him go, the only thing I'd be facing is a court-martial..."

It was the first time she'd heard him talk so candidly about the subject. And she refrained from comments that would interrupt his flow of thoughts. Apart from the fact that all this was all new to her, Oriana also had the feeling that this was something he hadn't had the chance to tell anybody all this time.

"He promised to find some way to help me salvage my career if I tag along." Shan went on slowly. "I'm not counting on that. I keep reminding myself what he and your sister did to save Horizon from the Collector attack is one of the reasons why I'm still here. That what they did to end the war is the reason why the Alliance still exists." He placed both hands on the edge of the kitchen counter, knuckles white with the strength of his grip. "I—I just wish the decision didn't fall on me. I don't know what else to do. All I know is tagging along was better than the alternative."

"Not if you get charged for allowing _and_ abetting his escape..."

He looked up and gave her an 'oh shit' look that was so comic and pathetic at the same time that she couldn't help pitying him.

"Oh c'mon, relax! It's not set in stone yet." She gave him a wry smile before as she finally turned off the tap and set down the dish she was washing. "But it looks like things will get more complicated. And dangerous. I don't think it'd help your case if you have to take John back to the Alliance in a coffin. So for now, you're stuck with helping him stay alive."

Shan gave her an intense and worried look.

"You have to understand I owe it to him. I'd never want him to come to harm if I can help it. Same goes for your sister and you."

Oriana drew a deep breath.

"That's good to know. Seeing how the situation keeps changing, I guess you'll have to play it by the ear as we go along."

"Looks that way..."

She cocked her head genially at him. "Life's easier when you just need to concentrate on one thing at a time, isn't it?"

He mustered a valiant smile for her, one she did her best to share. Granted, Oriana had wanted a stronger confirmation, but Shan hadn't asked to come along in the first place, and if this was the best she was going to get, it was something she had to accept. Still, she wished fervently she could do more to tip the balance over. They continued the rest of the work in companionable silence. But when the last item was neatly stacked on the rack, she found the temptation to deliver a parting shot impossible to resist.

"Hey, Shan?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm probably sticking the mother of all feet in my mouth here, but if you don't think John should go on trial, then it looks like you've already made up your mind. The rest is just icing on the cake— y'know, finding the courage to stand by your decision."

Oriana was glad to see as she turned to leave the washing area, his frown was more thoughtful than anything else. As she entered the living room, the door to the master bedroom finally opened. Both Shepard and her sister emerged, dapper, bright, and freshly-showered from the looks of it.

She noted that Shepard had finally trimmed his hair and beard. Other than the shocking colour—Oriana swore she'd never get used to seeing him as blond—she had to admit the overall effect looked good on him, imparting a sense of gravity and austerity to his rugged features.

"Good morning, you two. It's kinda late but all set for breakfast?"

Knowing Miranda, suggesting anything salacious over what they could've been doing the night before would send her older sister straight into outraged silence. But Shepard, as she would soon find out, had no such qualms. Oriana trailed them back into the kitchen, and poured coffee for the both of them plus a refill for herself.

"Got me some breakfast already, but I could go for seconds." Shepard gave her a conspiratorial wink as he rifled through the fridge. "Let's see what we've got here. Oh look, cereal. Haven't had that in a while." He put the box and a carton of milk on the table before placing a kiss on the top of Miranda's head. "What would you like?"

"My usual." Her older sister gave him a warning look. "And I'll get it. Don't exert yourself."

Shepard raised his brows in surprise, seemingly oblivious to her expression.

"There's quite a feast inside that fridge. Sure two pieces of toast is enough? You have to be pretty hungry by now."

"Yeah, we just stocked up." Oriana supplied and then added daringly, "I'm betting you did most of the work too."

"Hey now, I tried, but she kept taking over." Shepard protested.

Miranda choked on her coffee. That did it. The only sensible thing to do was burst into laughter. All this time, Shan was looking on with a stuffed expression, and Oriana placed a finger to her lips for his benefit, embellishing it with an impish grin. Harmless payback for all that incessant mothering was sweet, but as she was beginning to find out, having a fellow accomplice just totally topped the act.

Groaning, Miranda covered her face with her hands.

"Oh god, I dreaded something like this. This is going to last the whole day, isn't it?" She removed them to give Shepard a withering look. "I know Ori's incorrigible. But I can't believe you, of all people, joining in too!"

"I resent that!" Oriana gasped out as she doubled up even harder and Shepard began laughing as well. This went on as her twin muttered about forgoing due process and raining retribution on them, which simply had the effect of adding fuel to fire.

Finally, Shepard held his hands up in defeat, even as he continued chuckling.

"Alright, alright, we'll stop. But I'll cook you some porridge, okay? You'll be hungry in no time on toast."

Miranda sighed long-suffering exasperation and relented. "I could always make more. Do you want some?"

"Sure, I'll eat anything you make."

If it was any other couple, Oriana would be mentally gagging by now. But all she could think of was to clap in joy as she watched her two most favourite people in the world busied themselves prepping breakfast.

Shan excused himself, but Oriana remained at the table, nursing her coffee and laughing when her older sister pelted Shepard with bits of cereal and then feigning ignorance as he looked around. There was nothing extraordinary about it, just motions of what would be a routine for most people. But it was the little actions between them that made the whole thing different. For Oriana, it spoke volumes about their newfound tenderness towards each other.

"So seriously, I'm guessing I don't have to share my room anymore?" Oriana said as the second round of breakfast came to a close.

Miranda and Shepard looked at each other before Shepard nodded his head.

"We'll be seeking asylum with the asari government on Thessia once we're done here. To put it simply, John and I can't remain in Alliance space. I know this means I won't be able to join you on Elysium, but you can always visit us when things are more settled."

Oriana smiled immense satisfaction.

"That was what I was hoping. Great, it's really good to hear that."

"I'm also thinking I should be strong enough by the end of the week to infiltrate the tower." Shepard added quietly. "We should discuss our strategy for that tonight."

Miranda looked at him in concern and then finally bit her lip and agreed.

Oriana could only exhale deeply at that. As she went about her business in and around the bungalow for the rest of the day, she couldn't help but notice her sister and Shepard stealing opportunities to indulge in hugs and kisses. With the place being so small, privacy was inevitably at a premium. Miranda was chagrined to be caught for the first time or two, but after that, she just shrugged and smiled helplessly, her attention obviously miles away.

It must have been worse when they were both serving onboard the _Normandy _and keeping their relationship under wraps had been of utmost importance, Oriana realised. Knowing how much of a creature of habit and how intensely private her older sibling was, she knew now this particular reunion must lay especially close to Miranda's heart for her to act like this.

And it looked like things were about to heat up again. She could only hope fervently that there wouldn't be any casualties this time, near-misses or otherwise.

-~o~-

"I don't believe Shepard is dead."

She'd heard Kai Leng mutter that assertion ad nauseum over these past few weeks to the point where she didn't care anymore.

"Either find me the evidence or shut up," she'd told him tartly after the umpteenth time.

When he entered her motel room again, she'd half expected him to mutter the same assertion. But this time, there was a manic energy surrounding him, something that was exceedingly rare.

He began without preamble.

"I'm sure now that Shepard isn't dead."

Cordelia raised an eyebrow.

"And how did you come to that conclusion?"

"I decided to check up for anomalies in the Eldfell housing compound, just in case they moved there. There's a small clinic inside. The nurse told me that they'd loaned out their portable operating table on the authority of a certain Lawson a few weeks ago."

"Shepard could still have died while or after being operated on." She pointed out.

Kai Leng shook his head.

"If I failed to get him when he was down, there's a good chance he'll survive it. He's good at taking physical abuse."

She digested the news briefly and then shrugged.

"Shepard is your problem. I recall that you warned me against meddling with him right from the start. I have no intentions of doing that, now or later."

"That's where my second piece of news comes in. If he lives, he should just have recovered from his wounds. There's an announcement on the Alliance network today that he's on parole and broke it running away without notification."

That was newsworthy indeed.

"Why was he on parole in the first place?"

"They didn't say. But there's a reward for the one who knows his whereabouts—fifty thousand credits. Since the mercs are all dead, I've called the Alliance, told them that he's here. Let them do the dirty work for us. It'll come down to the same thing at the end."

She almost wanted to scream at him for doing things without her authorisation. At the last moment, she reined herself back. The fastest way to lose Kai Leng's respect was to lose control, she'd realised, and control was one thing that had never come easily for her.

"Are you daft? What I have in mind falls on the wrong side of the law! And now you're throwing Alliance presence into the mix?"

Kai Leng narrowed his eyes at her.

"I hired those mercs at your say-so. You saw how the three of them destroyed five squads. If you hadn't fucked up, we would've kept the other twin and got Shepard at the same time. I've done my part of the deal, while _you_ have yet to deliver."

Last week marked the third attempt she'd made to access the tower. The most viable way for any security system to filter out the potentially countless of imposters would be to scan every supplicant on a genetic level. It was laughable to think that Eldfell hadn't considered the flaw in this approach given that all his daughters are genetically identical. But it had begged to be tried.

She'd expected resistance from the human security, but the one in charge had told her laconically they had standing orders not to prevent anyone who try to go through the system legitimately. It was another one of Eldfell's tests, she realised. Like the Illusive Man, his was a legacy that reached far beyond the grave.

It didn't work of course. Except that the scan _had_ been genetic, but the system had rejected her based on some mysterious criteria she'd failed to meet. Had it been a lie that she shared the exact genetic make-up as the rest after all? Or was the oldest of them—the one whose name she almost can't bring herself to think of, was different—special, right from the start? If so, it wouldn't be the first time, Cordelia thought bitterly.

"I've solicited the services of a biolab in Hobart for a thorough genetic scan of my DNA as well as the rest's. The results will come out today. We'll find out soon enough what makes my dear oldest sister the only one who can enter that tower legitimately."

He gave her an ugly grin.

"I hope the truth doesn't sting too much."

She eyed him with undisguised loathing. Theirs was a partnership based on the premise of the enemy of my enemies is my friend, but it'd soured ever since that debacle when they'd lost all their troops and the one trump card in the form of that kidnapped twin. Right from the start, Kai Leng had made clear his one objective was to bring down Shepard. Although he considered "downing that bitch" as he called it, a bonus. It was the one thing she needed in a henchman—despite Kai Leng's obsession with Shepard, he always knew where his priorities laid. Nothing distracted him once he had his goal set.

She'd sought him out once the war ended, when she realised that he had been the Illusive Man's right-hand. It was the only way to access the most highly guarded files she'd required—one of which had been the eldest twin's DNA records.

There was no honour between these two particular thieves, she thought as she directed the hovercar over the darkened landscape of Tasmania, heading due east. But what had stung the most wasn't that she would find anything dissimilar in all three DNA records. She was already mentally prepared to find differences. No, it was how Kai Leng had called her out on her incompetence costing them any possibility of victory.

_You were not good enough._

She was sick to death of the voice in her head telling her that. She'd been given away at twelve. The man whom she would eventually come to realise was her father, as well as the one who gave her the name Cordelia, had left her to her own devices while she grew up.

It was much later that the reason became clear—she'd been created in a hurry after _that_ one—Oriana, that was her name—was taken away by their eldest. The pedigree of their bloodline was in their range of genetic enhancements. And those were the culmination of decades' worth of painstaking collaboration between Aiken Eldfell and the Illusive Man. The pact had been signed and sealed in blood ages ago—Eldfell must offer one of his daughters as payment for the effort Cerberus put into his personal project. The first successful test subject had been slated to be that sacrificial lamb, but she'd run away and took Oriana with her. And so the hammer fell on Cordelia.

She learned about all this only years later. In retrospect, if Cordelia could go back in time to ask Eldfell one question, it would be why name her after the only virtuous daughter of a king abandoned by his two eldest when he had already giving her up as a lost cause—thus setting her to fail right from the start?

Granted, he didn't ill-treat her, she was fed, clothed, and given an education as far as that went. The lack of peers had chaffed, and like Oriana, she'd thought how great it would've been if she had siblings. All that changed when she was handed over to Cerberus.

From pampered prisoner to lab rat, the transition had been shocking to the point where she questioned if she was two people leading totally different lives.

Cordelia didn't even know that she was simply the latest in a production line of clones until she went into Cerberus's care. Educating her, giving her the skills to fend for herself was nowhere on the list of priorities. Her minder was a mid-level scientist, Chatwin who resented having her placed in his care. Taunting her had been a daily pastime for him.

"Too bad you aren't as useful as your sister, huh?" He'd tossed out casually back in the early days.

That was the first sign she'd gotten that others existed. Access to the extranet and the Cerberus network was obtained by childish wheedling, and when she grew up, other special services for Chatwin. When she rebuffed his advances, his modus operandi had been to threaten her access. He knew how much they meant to her—they were her only links to the outside world.

Through the network, she'd learned of the oldest—Miranda Lawson's existence and her place in the organisation. In the early days, Cordelia had read avidly and extensively mission briefs and extracts of her reports, trying to imagine the personality and the voice behind the written words. It became an obsession, based on the reasoning that if she was as good, then perhaps she could change her destiny, escape the role she was forced into to become as valuable an operative.

Cordelia had tried every means available to send out a message of her own existence but to no avail. She'd gritted her teeth as she tracked her oldest twin's meteoric rise through the ranks, even though as time went on, there were less and less reports to read as Lawson was tasked with more important missions.

As she grew older and the conditions of what would be a lifetime of incarceration in the hands of her jailers became clear, that admiration had turned to despair and envy and finally into pure hatred.

_How could you?_ She wanted to rage. Nothing could redeem Lawson in her eyes, ignorance included. Still, Cordelia had persevered in studying as much as she could of her, knowing that in the event she was finally free, those skills would come into good use. Except the last firefight had proven that intensive understudying wasn't the answer if she didn't have the proper training or experience.

Hours later, as she walked away from the burning laboratory in a daze, all she could think of was curse the prescience of Kai Leng's words.

_You were not good enough._

She'd set off a spectacular display. Hobart would find itself short of a genetic centre tomorrow morning. She had lingered far too long, laughed as the flames licked the shattered building while the fire sirens wailed overhead. But it was worth every second. There absolutely had to be an event to commemorate the news she'd gotten.

So this was all it came down to—irony in such bucketloads that it would build a tower as high as Eldfell's private playground. All these years, she'd set her sight on returning to the one place where she had actually been happy. And now that dream had totally unravelled. The victory, even if she won this particular gambit, would be forever poisoned.

_I can't change my origins, but they aren't the only thing that defines me._

Cordelia had been ready to scoff when Oriana had droned on like a greeting card. What would you know, she had wanted to demand when Kai Leng interrupted them. Such pathetic platitudes were so laughable, especially coming from the one who'd managed to keep her hands cleanest in this entire debacle.

But the message had rung true even if the messenger was flawed. And unfortunately for Cordelia, her origins were the only thing that defined her.

As a scientist, Chatwin had been middling, but he could read her as though he had x-ray vision into her heart. With pinpoint precision, he knew exactly where her insecurities laid and he took great delight in prodding them, needle-like, turning them to festering wounds that continued to plague her to this day.

"Well, we're creating more of you." He told her jovially one day. "Want to take a look?"

He'd sneaked her in on a tour of what he dubbed the nursery, rows and rows of tanks filled with developing foetuses. He'd laughed at the look of horror on her face when she came to realise that they were copies of her.

"Looks like the old version is outdated. I'll miss you, but it can't be helped. There's no innovation without change."

Cerberus had pounced on the fact that she was a biotic who hadn't been exposed to eezo pre-natally. The next obvious step was to replicate that. For the first few years after that, Cordelia had lived in fear that she would become replaceable, which would subject her to more demeaning treatment from people like Chatwin. In the end, the children had failed to manifest biotic powers, and the fate she'd feared fell on them instead.

She could still hear their cries if she forgot and listened too hard. That usually happened in the dead of the nights, when the rattling heater died yet again, and the motel room grew deadly cold and silent as a tomb. Far better to burn in fire, and for every bomb she set, every conflagration that consumed and burned, she imagined that the smoke and embers would speed them off faster to a place they finally belonged.

Everything would come to an end soon enough. Once the Alliance alerted by Kai Leng came to reinforce their numbers, Cordelia would find a way to eliminate all existing versions of herself and make sure that no more new ones were created. Her final act would be to destroy her identity, and take on the one of whom she hated the most. It would be fitting—considering she'd never known who she really was all these years.

After all, they were made to be dispensable.


	18. Chapter 6 Part 1

**A/N:** Firstly, I'd like to apologise for the long delay with this chapter. Chapter 6 has been very tricky to plot and write so far and promises to be a humongous chapter. So I've decided that I should publish what I have for now to offset the dearth of updates. So here it is—the first half of Chapter 6. I want to thank everyone who wrote to me in concern that I've abandoned the story. I have no such intention, and I hope these two parts will whet your appetite for the big revelations in the second half of this chapter which should be out sometime next month. As with before, a big shout-out to Ieldra for his constant nagging and reminder that I have an obligation to complete this story. He's been a godsend in keeping me focused on writing.

* * *

**Chapter 6**

The opposite of apathy was paranoia. The thought struck Shepard as he studied the numerous holes in his armour with a critical eye. It'd been painstakingly repaired by Shan after his fateful fight with Kai Leng, and he had to admit it was a heroic effort considering the lack of access to proper materials or tools.

The plan to make a noisy entrance into Eldfell Tower to lure both Cordelia and Kai Leng out from hiding was set to take place tomorrow. This past week was like being in heaven without realising that he'd been living in hell all this time. And Shepard knew that no matter what came to pass, he would count it as some of the happiest moments of his life.

He knew now he didn't look forward to testing his suit's integrity in a firefight. It was a different kind of funk all together, akin to blood returning to frozen extremities. And along with that renewed sensation of being alive again came the realisation of how much he stood to lose if he slipped up one more time.

It was daunting to even think of a new life. For so long Shepard had lived with the threat of the Reapers that the idea of settling down had always been a pipe dream at best. And now that other options were closed to him, he was suddenly aware that he had no notion what such a lifestyle meant. New Canton had been a farce right from the start and he harboured no illusions that the last week of bliss was all there was to it. It was a good bet that the experience was just as alien to Miranda as well, but if she had any reservations, she hid them well.

One thing was clear: as a combat soldier, he was past his prime. Even if he hadn't spent most of the last decade on a ship's command deck, it was near impossible that he could resume his peak performance from before the war. Riding on that mixture of resignation and regret, Shepard noticed Shan looking on, his task of maintaining their weapons half forgotten before him, and tried to muster a grateful smile for that earnest face.

"Thanks for fixing this up for me, Shan. Let's hope it doesn't take too much of a beating tomorrow."

He watched as the young man released a pent up breath and said simply, "I hope so, sir."

They were saved from an incoming bout of awkward silence by Miranda's entrance into the living room with Oriana trailing behind. She'd taken a call from the tower security on the console in her younger sister's room and her grim expression didn't bode well.

"C'mon, Miri, are you saying I'd be a potential casualty if I came along?" Oriana demanded, evidently continuing a conversation from before.

"Or a hostage target." Miranda returned in a clipped tone. "They've done it once and they can do it again. I _won't_ risk that happening, Ori."

Oriana looked as though she was on the verge of saying more but subsided as they came within clear earshot.

Shepard couldn't help his involuntary smile for Miranda, which she returned with a faint one of her own. The last week was the most uninhibited he'd ever seen her, considering how painfully circumspect he knew her to be. It was one of those many changes in her person that continued to take him by surprise, and he was only beginning to warm up to them. Strangely enough, returning to professional mode again was harder than he'd imagined, and he found himself needing to struggle with it.

"Trouble at the tower?" He cleared his throat and asked as neutrally as he could.

Her eyes flicked to him thoughtfully before she replied with the same tone.

"Eldfell security reported that someone tried to hack and bypass the security system today via remote. The point of intrusion suggests it was most likely Cordelia. Nothing was damaged and I've maintained status quo for now."

Earlier in the week, Miranda had accessed the same system to verify her identity. The process had gone through without a hitch, which was why she had full access to the tower's resources now. It was probably an academic question, but Shepard recalled his puzzlement over how the genetics-based test had been able to separate her from the rest of her sisters.

"How does the system recognise you and not the rest by the way?"

"I don't know." She shook her head with a sigh. "It seems to be the only answer for most of the questions I've been asking myself lately."

"Maybe what you need is more heads working on those questions. If you're so worried about Cordelia getting her hands on me, then lock me up when we get there until the situation is under control." Oriana pointed out quietly.

Miranda gave her younger sister an exasperated look.

"I'll arrange for you to join us once we secure the area. Not before." She paused and then said more reasonably. "I know you want answers as much as I do, Ori. But that'll have to wait till we resolve the problem with Cordelia and Kai Leng."

"That's exactly what I'm afraid of." Oriana said with a frown. "How are you going to resolve the problem of Cordelia? Force her to surrender at gunpoint?"

Miranda hesitated. Her notion of a noisy entrance was to order the tower to resume full operations as of this week. The large-scale movement and activity ensured that it was impossible for Cordelia and Kai Leng not to know of it. Tomorrow, they would make an official entrance after working hours, when most of the workers would've knocked off, thus minimising the number of bystander casualties should things go haywire. It was utterly pragmatic, and exactly the kind of reasoning Shepard expected from Miranda. The only catch was there was no way for Oriana not to twig to the fact that things _might_ go haywire.

"It may come to that." Miranda confessed reluctantly. "I don't want to have to use force, but I doubt we can conduct any civil discussion without personal safeguards. Speaking of safeguards—" she turned to Shan. "—Shan, could you stay behind and keep Ori company when we enter the tower tomorrow?"

A frown appeared between Shan's brows before he said almost diffidently, "Sure, ma'am. I could do that."

Oriana threw her hands up in frustration.

"So on top of leaving me behind, you're also delegating someone you can't afford to spare to _babysit_ me?"

"It wouldn't be like the last time, Ori. Eldfell security forces are highly trained. Besides, I have full access to the tower's highly-advanced security system."

"If I come along, there's a chance I can get Cordelia to talk peacefully with us, then maybe we wouldn't need those safeguards at all. You admit yourself she's got a special interest in me. So let's use that to our advantage!"

It was the same conversation the sisters had been having over the last week, in one form or another. Things were simply turning confrontational now that the time window for last minute adjustments ticked to a close. It wasn't a situation Shepard felt he had much right to interfere in; neither did he envy Miranda for the myriad of factors that pushed and pulled at her, but he knew this was something she had to resolve on her own.

With reluctance, he turned his attention back to Shan who was similarly looking on uncomfortably at the sibling altercation. The marine was unusually sombre lately, and Shepard could pinpoint the exact moment when his behaviour markedly changed-his announcement that he'd seek political asylum with the asari government on Thessia. It didn't take a genius to figure out why. The decision spelt a death-knell to Shan's military career, likely accompanied by a jail stint for abetting and assisting in the escape of a political prisoner.

Offhanded comment or not, Miranda's reminder that it wasn't Shan's choice to become embroiled in this mess came vividly to mind, and once again, Shepard had to wonder if he'd unthinkingly hustled the young man into a no-win situation. He knew it would haunt him if he didn't do something about it and with an inward sigh, he beckoned Shan to join him on the porch outside.

Shan acquiesced amiably, although he gave the sisters more than one backward glance as the door slid shut behind him.

"Let them sort it out." Shepard advised. "They've spent most of their lives apart under different environments and circumstances. Clashes are inevitable."

Shan hesitated.

"I know it's not my place to say this, but don't you think Dr. Lawson is too...protective of Oriana sometimes?"

"She knows it, but it's not something she can help."

"I think I can understand that." Shan replied thoughtfully after a while.

Shepard gave him a brief smile.

"Thought you might. Maybe it's the same thing when you decided to join me here, knowing that it'd be a decision that may end up in a court martial." He thrust his hands into his pant pockets before looking up again. "Do you regret it?"

Shan's expression grew dark and troubled.

"I—I still haven't made up my mind about it, sir."

"I haven't forgotten my promise to try and get you out of that potential mess, in case you're wondering."

The young man refused to meet his eyes, choosing instead to survey the weed-choked back garden before them.

"I'm sorry for saying this, sir, but I don't see how that's possible. The only way to do that is for you to return to the Alliance with me, and that's out of the question."

Shepard couldn't help but wince at the notes of resignation and bitterness in the young man's voice.

"Would you consider quitting the Alliance, join Miranda and myself?" he asked finally. "There's a chance that I could find something for you to do on Thessia."

"Wouldn't that mean becoming an outlaw in Alliance space?"

"If it's any consolation, there's a large and thriving human community on Thessia that operates outside of Alliance jurisdiction." Shepard conceded in a heavy voice. "I'd call in what favours I have left in the Alliance to get you out of this, but that option isn't exactly tenable at the moment."

Shan was quiet for such a long time that his despair seemed to colour the air between them. And for the umpteenth time, Shepard wondered if he should've simply taken off after Miranda back at New Canton, and not have involved Shan in the first place. Giving him the option to come along had proven to be—to use the adage—giving him more rope to hang himself once the moment of reckoning arrived.

"I know it's not the solution you want to hear, and I'm sorry I can't offer better right now. That may change if we get a break later, and you can be sure I'll be looking damn hard for one." Shepard said quietly. "But it's something for you to think about and we have some time yet. It's probably too optimistic to think that we'll have tied up all loose ends by tomorrow."

His offer was followed by another long bout of silence.

"Thank you, sir," the young marine finally said. "For the record... I want to say that I got a number of things out of this experience. Good things." He added before ducking his head deeply. "I—had a talk with Oriana about the choices I'd made. And she said that maybe I already knew it was something I had to do. Maybe I just haven't found the courage to admit it to myself yet..."

He glanced thoughtfully through the window at Oriana who remained deep in an argument with Miranda as he said this. It wasn't the first time he did that while they talked, Shepard couldn't help but notice.

When they finally concluded their conversation, Shepard walked away with the feeling that he hadn't done much to solve the problem at all. In addition, there was a faint sense of unease that he couldn't pinpoint, something that nagged at him as he went with the final mission preparations for the rest of the day.

In the end, it was Miranda who managed to identify the source of that unease.

"Maybe I'm imagining things, but I'm worried about Ori's friendship with Shan," she confessed, lying in bed beside him later that night. "I can't help but feel that it's becoming something more than that, and I'm not sure that'll turn out well."

If it was any other time, Shepard would have argued that her protectiveness of Oriana was at play, but he had to admit he agreed with her now.

"Probably a good thing we'll be leaving Earth soon then." Mentally, he winced once again at his responsibility for the disappointment Shan would have to suffer.

"How did your talk with Shan go?"

"Funny that you ask, because I feel like I've done him another injustice." Shepard exhaled as he stroked her hair absent-mindedly. "If he returns to the Alliance after this, he'll be court-martialled for sure. Even if I had that many strings to pull within the Alliance, I'm in the worst possible position to do it."

"Damned if you do, damned if you don't..." Miranda commiserated. There was a pensive expression on her face after which she followed up with, "I have some favours I can call upon in the judiciary department. If we pool our resources together, we may be able to get him a lighter sentence. But I suspect a full pardon is out of the question."

"He said he'd think about joining us on Thessia. Didn't sound very enthusiastic about it though."

"He'll have to decide which option is best for him," she said simply as she tucked her head against the base of his neck.

The doubt that'd constantly hovered just off the edges this entire week clutched Shepard hard when she said this. Miranda must've sensed the stiffening of his body because she looked up at him in concern.

He thought about making light of his fear, even dismissing it, but Shepard couldn't help but recall his promise to hold truth as a lynchpin in their relationship.

"Is it the best option for _you_?"

She frowned at him, opened her mouth to say something and then closed it.

"You still wonder about that after this whole week?" She finally murmured in dawning realisation. "What does it take for you to stop asking that question?"

Shepard shrugged uncomfortably.

"I need more convincing, I guess."

The room lighting was dim, but he swore he didn't imagine the enigmatic smile on her face.

"Then you'll just have to keep on waiting."

He knew she was utterly serious despite her tone, but he couldn't help the fear that lurked around corners—that at the end of it all, something would go wrong and she'd say it wouldn't work out. The tendency to expect _and_ receive bad news had been ingrained in him these last few years that it was a struggle to believe that things would actually go his way.

"Sorry, I just can't help feeling this is too good to be true," he muttered in explanation. "It's something that'll probably take me some time to get used to again."

She studied him and then gave him a tender kiss for his effort at honesty.

"If all goes well tomorrow, you'll have all the time you need. Frankly, I'm not immune to irrational jitters myself." Miranda confessed with a sigh. "Taking Ori with us to the tower is out of the question, but I'm not sure leaving her with Shan is the best option either. So far, the lack of any signs of incursions or spying makes me want to believe this place _is_ indeed, safe, but I just can't help—" She shook her head here.

Shepard couldn't help his smile at how they seemed to be taking turns at assuaging each others' fears. He tightened his arms reflexively around her, giving her a reassuring squeeze.

"Can't exactly safeguard Oriana further without drawing more attention to her whereabouts. And you'll go crazy if you try to prepare for every contingency. I think you've done the best you can." He paused and then added gently, "You won't like me saying this either, but past a certain point, you've got to let your little sister fend for herself, personal relationships and all."

"I can't. Not when my father is involved. So much of what he's done to us remains a mystery. And you know how much I can't stand mysteries."

"Did you mean it when you said you may have to resort to force dealing with Cordelia?"

"I really don't know." Her chest heaved in deep exhalation against his. "Cordelia's life in the tower—I have a good idea how that was like. I wasn't exactly what you'd call well-adjusted myself when I ran away at sixteen. And some things just stay with you for life. Throw in a decade's worth of being incarcerated by Cerberus, and I suspect she's further away from my comprehension than Ori ever was."

It discomfited Shepard to hear her speak of her social inadequacies in such an offhanded manner that he was compelled to speak up.

"Your past doesn't make you any less who you are. You know that as well as I. In fact, out of all of us, you're probably in the best position to understand her."

"I really hope so." Miranda murmured as she pulled the bed covers more securely around them in preparation for sleep. Moments later, when he turned off the light, she spoke up one last time, her voice carrying a strange mixture of nostalgia and resentment in the darkness.

"What I really can't get over is how my father continues to pull strings from the grave. I remember how everything was a kind of test for him, even the smallest of gestures. Giving me something I wanted badly or granting some special privilege almost always came with an ulterior motive which I had to keep guessing at. And it's still going on..."

Long after her breathing took on the regular rhythm of sleep, Shepard remained awake, his eyes staring at the darkened ceiling. Most people never question why they were born because the reason usually boiled down to pure serendipity. Not so for Miranda, however. She never did reconcile to her father's reasons for her conception, and thus the never-ending and obsessive drive to create existential meaning through her own pursuits. It was why despite her attempt to make light on how much becoming an outcast in Alliance space with him would cost her, Shepard knew what it meant for her to abandon the place and recognition she felt she'd finally earned for herself.

It was past time to find out what secrets laid hidden inside the tower. Some hurts would only heal through the passage of space and time. And for her sake, he wished that there was a peaceful way to reconcile the differences between Cordelia and themselves so Miranda could finally get away from this godforsaken place. Away from her father's influence to finally achieve peace with her origins once and for all.

-~o~-

The muscle relaxants seemed to be doing their job, but likely it was too early to make that prognosis, Miranda studied Shepard from the corner of her eyes as he flew the shuttle beside her. They'd tested the prescription over the last week, even putting him through strenuous workouts in an attempt to simulate combat situations. There hadn't been any real problems, although she had to keep refraining from insisting that he didn't push himself too hard. His life depended on it and they both knew that.

The past week had been heady, like walking around slightly drunk from fine wine. The sense that it _felt_ right to express her happiness and affection for Shepard was something she'd never experienced before.

It was such a far cry from when they'd embarked on their clandestine relationship onboard the _SR2_. Back then, the whole set up came with so many restrictions that she never knew if and when it was going to fall apart. It was such a striking contrast to these past few days, when she felt more and more certain with every passing hour that she'd made the right choice. So much so now that it was hard reminding herself that the most crucial part of their mission still remained ahead.

Shepard had declared early on that he was putting himself under her command for the duration. Ironically, this was the first time that it was just the two of them in a long time. Privacy in the safehouse was impossible to guarantee apart from the nights, and tonight they would be testing out their professional relationship again so to speak.

The only catch was she wasn't sure that they could remain entirely professional, or if she even wanted it to be that way.

Shepard seemed to be holding his own well enough. His attention was mostly on the instrument panel as he made minute adjustments to smoothen out the shuttle's flight path. He could've given control totally over to VI pilot, but preferred to retain a human element to the operation. It was entirely the Shepard she'd known from before.

This past week has seen a gradual but discernable change in his behaviour. Watching him banter effortlessly with Oriana or discussing weaponry and ship specifications with Shan like two boys talking about their toys was like seeing him back on the _SR2_ again, playing the engaging commander who oversaw the needs of all his troops. Not just making sure they did their jobs, but also keeping them happy and cohesive. It was something that came as naturally for Shepard as breathing. She'd missed it terribly and was glad to see it back because she knew now he'd meant it when he said he'd get out of his funk.

One hundred metres below them, the darkened plains of Tasmania flew by under his skilful piloting. Straight ahead of them, Eldfell Tower, the two-kilometre tall monolith that dominated the skyline in these parts loomed nearer and nearer. Strategic lighting imbued the dark material that comprised most of the building with a strange, almost otherworldly glow, and Miranda couldn't help her heart seizing up spasmodically at the familiar sight again after so many decades.

Shepard must've sensed the change in her demeanour for him to speak the first few words since they entered the shuttle.

"Must be such a strange homecoming for you."

To call it that was both so apt and an understatement that she was at a loss over how to respond. The tower's construction had been highly controversial, with some hailing it as the landmark of Tasmania, while others derided it as an eyesore in an otherwise pristine landscape, now extremely rare on the planet surface. That sort of mixed reaction went straight to the bedrock of Miranda's innermost self. As the symbol of her father's presence and reach, the tower dominated her subconscious, even forming the stuff of her nightmares. But at the same time, it also constituted the earliest memories of her life. Painful as some of them were, they remained the psychological building blocks of her entire being. Coming back after the absence of so many years, they bubbled to the surface of her thoughts without any prompting.

Gently, she threaded her arms around Shepard's, taking strength from his newfound resolve as the fine details on the forbidding walls slowly materialised with the closing distance. No, they needn't be wholly professional, not where and when it didn't matter.

"I was nine when I discovered through the extranet how wonderful music was. The fine arts weren't part of my educational curriculum and I was expressively prohibited from learning an instrument," she murmured, her eyes mesmerised by the needle in the darkened sky. "I didn't know why, I just knew that I had to find a way to include it into my life. So I smuggled a violin into the tower with Niket's help and tried to teach myself how to play it."

It was her first rebellion of sorts. Back then Miranda couldn't understand why her father would deny her access to something so beautiful. Left to her own devices most of the time, she was, however, used to figuring out how to get what she wanted. In many ways, she realised now, she'd relished playing the role of a spoiled tyrant within her own little domain.

"The concept of basics wasn't something that made sense back then. Instead, I jumped straight onto mastering famous classical pieces. There was a beautiful piece that I'd loved very much-Bach's Violin Sonata No. 2, part two."

"It _is_ beautiful. You showed me several renditions of that piece, I remember." Shepard replied quietly, his way of prompting that didn't break the line of her thoughts. A surge of appreciation for him welled up at the back of her mind even as the strength of the memory compelled onwards her accounting.

"I thought if I could show my father how well I could play the piece, he might be encouraged to change his mind, let me take proper lessons." She continued as she rested her head against his shoulder. "I remember practising for weeks until I got it right. Soon after, I finally got access to him in his office. He was quite surprised and I knew if I hesitated, it'd give him the chance to throw me out. My hands were shaking all the way, but by some stroke of luck, I still managed to give him a near-perfect recital."

It still stung—what came next, despite the passage of years, and it was with difficulty that Miranda swallowed past the lump in her throat.

"He just stared at me after I put the instrument down. In the end, he rose, took my violin away, and broke it into half in front of me before ordering me out of his sight. After that, he had his guards keep a close watch to make sure I'd never have access to another musical instrument. Or anything that would distract me from the things he wanted me to excel in."

It was funny how hindsight worked. Even back when they first met and she was telling Shepard about her father and griping over how he didn't treat her like a daughter, they were frustrations compounded by the fact that she never knew the reasons for his actions. If Cordelia was right about the genetic dynasty angle, then everything was only now beginning to make sense. All her attempts at pleasing him were, in fact, self-defeating right from the start because her personal achievements never did matter.

Shepard remained silent for a long time. Soon after, he set the shuttle on autopilot to follow the flight path that would take it to a designated landing pad before clearing his throat softly.

"Would you consider taking up music again after we relocate to Thessia? If you like, I could join you. I've always wanted to play the guitar, even though I know I don't have much in terms of musical talent."

Miranda bit back her smile. Now _that_ was truly an understatement. Shepard was tone-deaf, although he vehemently denied it at every opportunity. She recalled their music sessions back on the _Normandy_, where they'd play for each other their favourite pieces. He had a strong preference for classic twentieth-century rock, while she leaned towards post-modernist compositions. After each session, he'd inevitably massacre her favourites through vigorous but tuneless whistling. He'd almost driven Oriana, who _was_ musically-trained, mad over this past week for that reason.

But she knew what he was trying to give her. Reaching out a hand, she turned his face towards hers and gave him a deep kiss. Their moment of personal connection was unfortunately brief as the intercom pinged to life soon after.

"This is Omar Khalif, head of Eldfell security. We've received your pass codes. They're in order. You're good to land on Platform A2."

Shepard exchanged a look with her before they broke apart. She nodded at him to open the outgoing channel.

"Thank you, Mr. Khalif. I believe you've received my list of very specific instructions before this. I want a debriefing as soon as I reach your offices."

There was a brief pause here before the light on the incoming channel blinked green again.

"Are you aware that you're communicating over an unsecured channel?"

"Which is why I'm leaving the details for discussion later."

"Duly noted. I'll send a party to meet you on the landing pad. Welcome home, Ms. Eldfell."

All business again, Shepard thumbed off the autopilot and angled the shuttle towards the landing pad on the lowest tier of the tower.

"Now to see if _our _bait gets taken."

On her part, Miranda remained silent even as the massive tower soon occluded everything else from view.

_Welcome home, Ms. Eldfell..._

Walking through those halls and rooms again, after the absence of almost thirty years, was something she both dreaded and strangely looked forward to at the same time. As much as she'd like to think that she had moved past her father's influence in her life, the trip back here simply brought old wounds back forth to the surface for her to realise they weren't as well-healed as she'd thought they were.

She was sick of dangling on the web of secrets and intrigue he'd woven around her, sick of never knowing how and when she would be freed from his legacy. Perhaps it was time to purge the necrotic parts out, even if she had to lose something along the way. If that was the only way to finally achieve closure, so be it.

-~o~-

The bungalow was painfully quiet since Shepard and Miranda departed thirty minutes ago. Oriana felt no inclination to engage in conversation with Shan who was monitoring the security outpost, his eyes dutifully surveying every camera monitor located around the compound. Every now and then, he'd glance at her with ill-concealed concern, but she wasn't in the mood to assure him that everything was fine.

Arranging for her to join them at the tower once the area was secured—it was another damn excursion in making. To say that she was fed up of being the weak link in the chain, of being the ripe target for a kidnap situation was an understatement of epic proportions. She was so tempted to scream, to say damn it all to hell-that she didn't care if she was taken hostage again. It took all her innate honesty and reluctant sense of responsibility to recognise that would simply undo the painstaking lengths Miranda had gone through to ensure her safety.

And it was times like this when Oriana couldn't help but wonder how on earth her older twin could be so meticulously deliberate and patient all the time. To put it simply, they couldn't be more different people. It made her wonder sometimes if they indeed shared an identical genetic makeup.

"Shan?" she blurted the first thing that came to the thought of her mind. "What kind of genetic modifications did you get when you signed up with the Alliance?"

He looked thoughtful for a moment.

"Umm, the basic stuff mostly. I was created in-vitro, so a lot of hereditary problems were fixed right there. When I signed up, I got mods against eyesight deterioration, a slightly more efficient metabolism, some strength and reflex enhancements—mostly stuff that's legal under Alliance laws."

"I guess you wouldn't have the problem of waking up one day and finding that your very existence is against the law."

At his puzzled look, she went on to explain, "I can still remember the time when my parents got into trouble after I transferred to an all-human school on Illium, and broke just about every plausible record for track and field events. Back then, the human population on Illium was still under Alliance law, and the police got called in. My parents were almost charged for illegal genetic modifications on me, but managed to escape because my adoption records were so murky."

Oriana rolled her eyes at the memory. "It was the same spiel with my biotics. I used to think it would be fun to, y'know, show off my biotics when I was a kid. That almost landed my family in hot water several times too. I learned better when I got older of course. And that was when I started to wonder why the heck was I given all these gifts when I can't even use them openly?"

Shan frowned as he considered what she said.

"They may be illegal, but I think almost every soldier would kill to have the mods you and your sister have. Maybe not the biotics, but everything else for sure."

"But I'm not a soldier!" Oriana looked at his nonplussed expression and realised how petulant and dismissive that sounded. Temper, temper, she reminded herself. With an effort, she lowered her voice.

"Don't get me wrong, I know inconveniences aren't the entire package. Things like my looks and intellect had given me an edge all these years, but now that I know what I know, I have to wonder if the price tag is too high for the whole thing. Case in point—look at the situation we're stuck in right now. It just makes me wonder when all this need to skulk around will stop, when all this fighting will be over." Chasing an afterthought, she added more quietly, "Not to mention how it feels more and more impossible to be my own person..."

Shan looked on in earnest worry all this time as he gravely absorbed everything she said. When she was done with her rant, his face underwent a myriad of expressions as though he was looking for the correct response. Finally, he gave her a look of such conviction that she was almost taken aback.

"Don't ever say that. You're right. There's no need for you to be a soldier. You've done a great job distinguishing yourself from your sister without being one. I wouldn't want that changed at all."

Most people would consider Shan slow on the uptake, and Oriana had discovered that he could be incredibly dense at times, but it was something she chalked down as a male tendency to overlook emotional subtleties. What these few weeks of interaction revealed to her was the fact that Shan wasn't stupid; he simply weighed everything he said and did. Combined with the fact that he was honest to a fault, it made what he just said even more reassuring and precious to her. And in return, the only way she felt she could respect that honesty was to answer it as truthfully as she could.

"I know thanks to Miri, I probably had it the easiest among all our sisters." Oriana took a deep breath as she tried to explain the turmoil that had been bugging her since the recent insights into her past. "God knows how many of us are there out there—twenty, thirty, or even more? And that's the point—for all our genetic advantages, we can't escape the fact that we're all part of a production line, clones made for a purpose that doesn't care that we have our own personalities, needs or desires."

Shan was silent for a long while before he exhaled deeply. With one last look at the bank of monitors before him, he swivelled around, clasped his hands together as he looked at her seriously.

"I hope you don't mind me asking, but if you have the chance to meet your other twenty, thirty sisters, would you want to?"

It was a good question, and one fraught with implications.

"I don't think so." Oriana bit her lip as she finally shook her head. "Every time I talk to Cordelia, I can't help but think that could've been me, and that scares me big time. And then I feel guilty because it _should've_ been me. Even with Miri, I get that weird dissonance sometimes.' She lapsed into silence and then finally concluded with, "It's funny. I've always been curious to a fault. But in this case, I guess it's an experience I really don't want to go through twenty or thirty times over."

Shan was on his way to acquiring a perpetual frown at this rate, Oriana thought, as he clasped and unclasped his hands at the end of her explanation. Finally, it seemed as though he arrived at a decision and was in the process of getting up from his seat when his attention was piqued by something on one of the screens.

Immediately, that thoughtful frown changed nature, taking on a darker cast. Unholstering his weapon, he thumbed the safety switch off.

"Is something wrong?"

"Just checking on something." He gave her a smile which was supposed to assure, but failed to spectacularly, before making his way to the main door.

Despite being a non-combatant, Miranda had grilled her over basic safety considerations so often in the past few weeks that Oriana knew the last thing she wanted to do was to investigate the disturbance in person. A low conversation had begun at the door, murmurs too vague for her to single out any word.

She frowned. There was no reason anyone would come visiting at this hour. This was a pretty exclusive neighbourhood, and in the time they'd moved in, there were fewer than ten housecalls. Her eyes took in the bank of monitors that Shan was at and she rose from the sofa to take a peek at them.

What she saw puzzled the hell out of her, and sent alarm bells ringing at the back of her mind. Why on earth was Shan talking to Miranda? Why did her older twin return without notice? Oriana didn't recall hearing the shuttle land so how did Miranda get back to the bungalow?

It was impossible to remain a hapless spectator any longer. She absolutely had to get to the bottom of this, even as the sense of something terribly amiss began to permeate her. That dread was brought to sickening life when half way to the main door, she heard a _thump—_the sound of a body hitting the floor.

Oriana made a dash to cover the remaining distance and came to a skittering halt at the tableau that greeted her eyes—Miranda, fully attired in armour and long coat, looking on dispassionately at Shan before stepping over his comatose body to enter the safehouse.

"Should've done that right at the start instead of playing twenty questions with that blathering fool." Those unbearably glacial eyes finally latched on her, and a cold smile blossomed on Cordelia's face. "Hello again, Oriana."


	19. Chapter 6 Part 2

They were greeted by no less than the head of Eldfell security himself when the shuttle door finally slid open to reveal the welcoming party. Omar Khalif was a man of African descent, his pudgy face a strange counterpoint to his imposing and well-toned physique. The rolls of flesh had the effect of almost hiding his small eyes, and the casual onlooker would be tempted to think that he was all brawn and no brains.

But Miranda knew better. As far back as she could remember, Eldfell guards were some of the highest paid in the galaxy, and their skill and efficiency rivalled that of government strike forces. There was no reason to imagine things had changed. It also meant that Khalif had to be an extremely shrewd and intelligent man to have risen to his position. And it was with satisfaction that she observed how he kept the exchange of greetings to the minimal before leading them straight towards the heart of operations in the tower.

"As per your orders, we've cleared the tower of low-clearance personnel. Everyone else has been advised to leave and we're monitoring essential staff left behind to maintain operations in certain areas."

Khalif began without preamble the moment the security bulkheads slid close behind them. The operations room was similar to setups found all over the galaxy, except two to three times larger than what most corporations boasted of. The giant space was filled from floor to ceiling with hundreds of monitors that funnelled data from countless different sensors and surveillance equipment covering the entire tower, the concourse and the marina-the equivalent of a small city's activities. Trained analysts monitored these in front of rows and rows of consoles, sifting for anomalies in the data after the inbuilt VI had filtered most of the chaff out.

"What's the status of your security teams?" Miranda crossed her arms as her eyes travelled up and down the aisles, taking in the details. This part of the tower was one of the areas she'd never been in, and despite knowing the logistics involved, the scope of it continued to amaze her. Beside her, Shepard looked on unobtrusively, ignoring the fact that most of the personnel were studying him curiously. Either they knew who he was, or they didn't. No matter what, it firmed her newfound resolve that any insight into her personal life was entirely hers and Shepard's to disclose or conceal when they wanted to.

"I've called in our reserves and cancelled all leaves." If Khalif knew who Shepard was, he gave no indication as he continued his update. "Patrols have also been stepped up, mostly concentrated in the perimeter where we can expect most intrusions. In my experience, our extensive monitoring and the fully operational security system more than take care of the tower itself."

She nodded as she absorbed the information. It was exactly what she would've done with firsthand experience informing her on just how good the billion-dollar security system was. So good in fact, that in this particular operation it_ was_ a matter of concern.

"There's a change of plans, Mr. Khalif, I want all lethal countermeasures disabled. We can't afford any kind of tragic accident happening."

Khalif frowned thoughtfully as he digested the new development.

"That _will_ stretch my manpower resources since certain access points are guarded solely by those countermeasures. While that isn't a problem in the short run-" He paused here to clear his throat. "It's my understanding that you're hoping to lure your clone into the tower with your presence, Ms. Eldfell. What if she doesn't take the bait?"

That name again... The distance that Miranda had managed to place between herself and her past was such that she couldn't help but cringe mentally at being called that.

"We'll stick to this holding pattern for a week. Your men should be able to handle that. I have every confidence that my—sister will take it. She has to, or she'll lose the chance to access the tower entirely. We have the home field advantage here."

Khalif didn't look as though he was entirely convinced, but wisely kept his peace. If he was as good as he looked to be, he'd have read up every available file on her before tonight's meeting. Miranda wasn't inclined to challenge whatever misconceptions he might have about his new employer. Those would either be corrected as they negotiated their way to a working relationship, or this entire fiasco would end before any serious differences became a problem.

"Do I have full access to the tower and its systems, Mr. Khalif?"

He looked away to consult an accompanying aide before returning his attention back on her.

"Yes, Ms. Eldfell. Your personal passcodes have been input into the system and activated as of this afternoon. You can override any system from anywhere through the secure transmission channel using your omni-tool."

That was it. Hearing those words finally brought home the realisation that she had been given the master key to the place where she was conceptualised, conceived, nurtured and eventually imprisoned in. All that had belonged to the man responsible for those paradoxes was now hers. Nowhere else would she find more complete records of her genesis, from the project inception decades before she was born all the way through the years of her absence from this place. And perhaps secreted somewhere within that chronological repository would be an inkling as to the motivations of the figure she called father.

That old address grated far less this time. Miranda felt as though she was slipping back into an old skin, one that insidiously moulded itself to fit her newly minted status. It was so easy to just close her eyes, to let the vivid images from her childhood take over her mental processes.

A gentle touch on her arm woke her from that reverie, and she reopened her eyes to Shepard's enquiring look. She tried to muster a reassuring smile for him.

"I'm fine."

"I know." He said as they moved aside to confer privately. "Just thought you might want to take a personal tour of the place. Don't think we'll see much action in the next few hours. I can stay here and keep watch if you like."

Trust him to get right to the heart of what tugged at her. But she was grateful of his intervention for a different reason. With her innermost desire given voice by his question, her mind invariably came back to its senses to point out that the tower was massive enough to house an entire town's population. If she moved beyond this area, it would literally take a while to return if a crisis popped up. Ultimately, _she_ was the one in charge of this mission.

"There'll be time for all that later." She took a deep breath before replying, "It's been almost thirty years. It can wait a few days more."

Shepard studied her before accepting her explanation with a nod. That was one priority put into the correct place. Miranda turned back, intending to iron out more details with her new head of security only to find that he'd moved to look over one of the surveillance monitors, a frown on his face. The guard that was manning the station was speaking into his comm unit as he looked up to his superior worriedly.

"Trouble?" Shepard asked as they came within earshot.

Khalif glanced up at the question, his frown deeper than ever.

"There's an Alliance squad requesting entrance. And it seems their commander isn't willing to explain the reason for their presence. It's strange because we haven't had Alliance around here for years. Usually, we take care of our own problems."

Appropriately, he moved aside to give them a clear view of the monitor screen. Miranda's heart sunk even as Shepard breathed noisily through clenched teeth when they realised who it was.

"Somebody you know?" Khalif queried.

"Someone I used to call a friend." Shepard clarified reluctantly. "I think we can take it from here if you'll give us a moment, Mr. Khalif."

They shared a troubled look as they moved to a corner again to confer privately.

"It has to be either Kai Leng or Cordelia who got wind that you're wanted by the Alliance and tipped them off." Miranda said darkly. "My bet's on Kai Leng."

"Always knew I'd get a visit from the Alliance sooner or later but I never expected them to send Jacob after me. Got to say it makes perfect sense now that I think of it." Shepard laughed mirthlessly. "They finally figure they might have misread Shan, and so they send in the one who got me into this mess in the first place."

It was emotionally-fraught reasoning, but Miranda had to admit it was sound. There was no other reason why Jacob would be given the job, and she could only curse the asshole back at HQ who'd thought of the idea to send him.

"Do you blame Jacob for making the report?"

Seconds ticked by as Shepard considered the question. In the end, he shook his head with a sigh.

"Neither of us were in our right minds back then. And no matter the reasons, I did have a hand to play in destroying the friendship between us."

"I suspect given a more benign political climate, Jacob's report would've likely been conveniently lost in the mountain of paperwork generated by the war," she said judiciously. "It only got pulled out of the slush pile because the ruling party is looking for an axe to grind."

He shrugged.

"For all it's worth, I think you're right."

There was a good chance that Jacob wouldn't know of Shepard's exact whereabouts. Any personal attempt on his part at resolving the issue would require him to reveal his presence, which simply squandered away that mother of all advantages. Miranda knew Shepard would arrive at the same conclusion even as the chain of logic unfolded effortlessly in her mind. It was a terrible position for him to be in, and she could almost see the waves of frustration emanating off him. On the other hand, _she_ had legitimate reasons to be at her father's ancestral home. Admittedly too, she hadn't talked to Jacob in years, but at least that particular bridge hadn't been irrevocably burned.

"I think it's best if I go down and deal with Jacob," she murmured in conclusion.

Shepard looked down, gave a snort of a laugh and then looked up at her gratefully.

"I'll stay here and watch the show from the monitors." He quipped in an attempt to lighten the mood. "Just... go easy on him, eh?"

"I'll try," she returned with a wry smile.

It was a short trek back to the elevator lobby with Khalif in tow. As they walked the distance, Miranda gave instructions for Jacob to be shown a private meeting room. If the situation wasn't so serious, she'd have groaned at the embarrassment of interceding on the behalf of her current lover with a former flame. It was the stuff of bad romance holovids and she could only be glad she'd never said much to Shepard about her relationship with Jacob.

Not that there was much to tell. During her time with Cerberus, she'd been so desperate for the company of people that didn't sign up to feed their personal vices that she capitulated into a relationship she wouldn't otherwise entertain. That realisation had come almost as soon as they'd hit off. Coupled with the discovery that their principles were too different for them to truly see eye-to-eye, Miranda had terminated it before things soured. She'd gotten wiser since, but she'd never been sure if Jacob felt the same.

It was a far warier man who greeted her when she entered the meeting room at any rate. Neither did he seem surprised that she'd been the one who arranged for the meeting, although his attention lingered on the door, as though he'd expected Shepard to enter after. Her eyes took in other details, including the new rank tabs of lieutenant commander on his combat armour.

"It's been a while, Jacob." She was determined to be cordial as she gestured him to take a seat. "How have you been?"

He shrugged as he settled into a leather chair, his face remaining expressionless.

"Been better, but I'm not complaining." His eyes travelled around the room, taking in the whole tower in effect. "Congratulations on your inheritance by the way. From how you used to talk about your father, this has got to be poetic justice."

She was half-inclined to deny that, and then decided it wasn't worth the effort.

"Thanks. I see you've gotten a promotion yourself. Congratulations."

A grimace contorted his face as he gave a bark of a laugh.

"Looks like we're moving up in the world in our own ways. In my case, these rank tabs are a daily reminder that I earned them by throwing the Saviour of the Galaxy to the wolves. Not exactly the kind of payment he was expecting, I'm sure."

Firmly, Miranda quelled her instinctual bristle. Jacob had never shown the tendency to gloat over another's misfortune. He was far more inclined to pity those that didn't deserve it, often to her amusement and exasperation. On that knowledge alone, she decided to play it straight.

"Did it give you satisfaction doing so?"

He gave her a grateful look.

"You're the first person to ask me that. No, I took no pleasure in reporting Shepard's conduct," he said heavily. "Especially when I saw how my report was used as a tool by politicians to one-up each other in exchange for votes—both sides talking about rightful causes when it's just streams of shit flowing downhill."

She frowned and followed that up with the next pertinent question.

"If you feel that way, why don't you walk away from it?"

"And go where? Wasn't born with a silver spoon in my mouth like you." He looked away from her, directing his attention to the tabletop here. "Made up my mind they can do whatever they want, as long as I get to stand on the sidelines."

This coming from a man who'd initially abandoned the legitimacy of government service to join a terrorist organisation because he felt he could make a difference. She'd heard from mutual acquaintances and Shepard the changes to his personality, but never did Miranda imagine it would be this drastic. With a pang, she realised how often that happened nowadays—meeting someone from her past and finding them irrevocably changed and it was with difficulty that she wrestled her thoughts back to the present. Now was not the time for the trip down nostalgia lane.

"So what brings you here, Jacob? I can't imagine it's just to catch up on the old days."

He propped both elbows on the table, tenting his hands before he began without preamble.

"I'm here to apprehend Shepard for breaking his parole. I know he's somewhere around here, so you can stop trying to cover up for him."

At least he retained his oft-brutal honesty, she thought. The best defence remained keeping Shepard entirely out of sight. Almost any complication down the road would be averted if they could manage just that and as a rule, something as close to the truth as possible invariably made it easier to maintain consistency and corroboration. In the lack of more information, she decided to play by their original scenario—that Shepard's trail mysteriously ended after she'd sabotaged his ID chip onboard the outgoing freighter at New Canton.

"What if I say I have no idea where he is right now? I returned to Earth to attend to highly-personal business. If you're here because records showed that both of us left New Canton at the same time, then I must tell you that I broke up with Shepard a month ago, and we haven't contacted each other since."

That gave him cause to pause. Which told Miranda several things—that whoever tipped the Alliance off on Shepard's whereabouts probably did so anonymously and didn't provide much in terms of details, which would fit Cordelia or Kai Leng's modus operandi. It was also likely Jacob had been given his instructions and hadn't seen the source for himself.

Whatever the reasons, he remained suitably sceptical as he shook his head.

"Sorry, but there's no way to believe what you just said is the truth. Fact is Shepard shouldn't have tried to take matters in his own hands. The only way to legitimately clear his name is to return to the Alliance and stand trial."

She couldn't help her mental headshake at Jacob's stiff-necked attitude. It was so reminiscent of the man he used to be that it was impossible to keep the familiar sense of ire and impatience from rising.

"Regardless of my reasons for breaking up with Shepard, I still think he wasn't given much of a choice in this matter." She pointed out, careful to keep the emotional quotient in her tone level. "We both know something like this would take years to resolve. He shouldn't have to waste his life in an Alliance jail for the sake of furthering someone's political agenda."

"What we think has no place in this." Jacob replied adamantly. "He has to work within the system whether he likes it or not. The alternative is to fall back on terrorist organisations like Cerberus again and we both know what that's like."

_One which you were very much a part of. _She wanted to remind him but refrained. Miranda remained highly divided over her time with Cerberus, but to denounce them as being the greater evil against which everything else was preferable was incredibly simplistic, not to mention grossly hypocritical on the part of former members like themselves.

"You continue to surprise me, Jacob," she murmured with a shake of her head. "Just when I thought you've moved on from making absolute judgements, you do it again. The fact remains that if not for Cerberus, we would never have gotten a headstart researching on how to defeat the Reapers."

Jacob's nostrils flared subtly at her words.

"It surprises _me_ that you're still willing to make excuses for them. You really think that the Alliance or the rest of the Council races wouldn't have hit jackpot eventually?" He paused here to say, "Point is organisations like Cerberus are far more trouble than they're worth. I've gotten wiser over who and where I place my allegiance in."

"Trouble because it's inconvenient to the lifestyle you have in mind? Or because it throws a wrench on your ambition to make admiral someday?" she tossed out irately before reining herself back. She'd never have thought to accuse Jacob she knew from before of being self-serving, but neither did she know enough of the man he'd become to make that judgement right now.

"Look, Jacob, I won't condone Cerberus's more questionable practices anymore than you do nowadays," she went on more reasonably. "But don't kid yourself thinking the Alliance won't bank on another shadow organisation to do their dirty work. And we're getting side-tracked here—Shepard doesn't deserve to be treated this way after all he's done. "

"The fact remains he sacrificed five billion human lives to win the war. Someone needs to be held accountable for that." He frowned at her darkly. "It's the same with you, Miranda. Your first impulse is to take the easiest solution to any problem, no matter the price. Seems to me that's something you haven't learned."

She looked at him coldly. And realised she had nothing else to say to him. She had absolutely no interest engaging in a debate of semantics with someone possessing principles as mutable as the weather. It'd been something about him that had bothered Miranda before, but never on this magnitude.

"What _I_ have learned is there's no reasoning with people who denounce what they privately believe in because it's more profitable to do so. At any rate, I refuse to discuss our differences in principles. Shepard isn't here, so let's stop wasting each other's time."

"Wouldn't say I'm wasting my time." Jacob bit out finally, his jaw muscles standing in relief. "The source that tipped Alliance command off explicitly named you as an accomplice to his escape. I didn't want to believe it, but now that we've talked, that doesn't sound so far-fetched after all. I guess you'll just have to bear with my presence for a while."

Silence hung in the air for a long time between them.

"You're going to have to produce a search warrant or excuse me for not entertaining that outrageous request."

More than ever, she wanted Jacob gone. But even so, there was no satisfaction watching him struggle for an answer when it was apparently he didn't have one.

"I've heard about the special 'arrangements' your father made with the local government." He finally tossed out in a put-on offhanded manner. "Makes sense that the richest man on Earth could do anything he wanted in his own little kingdom. Hate to say but that's going to change. You have to subject yourself to Alliance jurisdiction or be charged for obstruction of justice like everyone else."

The threat in those words was unmistakable. And if there was anything Miranda hated more than anything else, it was posturing and chest-thumping made on delusional or ill-informed grounds to try and cow her into submission. That she should have to be subjected to something like that from a friend who ought to know better made it all worse. No, she really didn't know who Jacob was anymore.

"Regardless of prior arrangements my father may have with the Alliance, the fact remains that you cannot produce a warrant to justify your presence." She stood up abruptly, at the end of her tether. "I'm giving you the grace now to leave on your own two feet. I suggest you take it or Mr. Khalif here will have you and your squad forcibly removed."

Jacob rose to his feet slowly, his face an unreadable mask.

"I'll be back with that warrant, you can be sure of it."

"You do that," she said tersely as she left, trusting her new head of security to carry out the necessary measures.

So much for not burning that particular bridge to both hers and Shepard's past. As she walked back to the elevators, Miranda couldn't help but wonder if she could've handled the situation better. The changes in Jacob continued to take her by surprise, but the more things changed, the more they stayed the same apparently. Once Jacob had his mind fixed on a particular notion, misguided or not, it was near impossible to dislodge him. And she had absolutely no patience for his stupidity and complicity in being pulled into this whole farce.

What she did simply put a longer fuse to a potentially explosive situation, but given the circumstances, it was probably the best she could do, she decided. As she rounded the final bend before the lobby, Miranda stopped short, momentarily caught offguard by the sight of Shepard exiting a lift.

"What are you doing here? You could've been seen by Jacob."

He looked at her, silent agony and worry etching deep furrows on his forehead.

"I wouldn't have come down if it wasn't urgent. I just got a call from the safehouse." He took a deep breath. "Cordelia is there with Oriana. She's demanding to speak to you."

-~o~-

_So much for trying to keep me safe._

That thought went on in a litany in Oriana's mind even as her muscles froze into place at the mind-boggling change in events.

How the hell was she going to get out of this predicament, or even send warning to Miranda, she hadn't a single clue. But as she was beginning to find out, those weren't her immediate problems. She watched in growing alarm as Cordelia redirected her attention to Shan, casually retrieved her pistol before pointing it at his unconscious form.

"Stop!" Her voice came out as a harsh croak, her vocal chords managing to unfreeze just in time. "Don't kill him!"

Cordelia looked at her curiously.

"Why?"

Just one week ago, Oriana recalled how she'd felt so resentful of Shan over his role as Shepard's reluctant gaoler. The idea that he could possibly die in this expedition had never occurred to her. And now that it was an immediate possibility, she was reminded painfully of the fact that he didn't ask to be involved in any of this. More to the point, her heart simply spasmed at the idea of him dying for her sake. The only problem was saying that wouldn't go over well with Cordelia at all.

"Isn't it bad enough that you're planning to kill all your sisters?" She blurted the first thing her mind could come up with. "Why add more to the list?"

Even as those words left her mouth, she winced at how flimsy her defence sounded. As if on the same mental wavelength, Cordelia cocked her head thoughtfully.

"You sound anxious that the Alliance Marine live. Who is he to you?"

Taken aback, Oriana clamped her mouth shut. That _was_ a very good question, but definitely not one she was willing to answer under these circumstances. Instead, she decided to take another tack.

"You got to admit what you're planning isn't exactly lawful. Doesn't it make sense not to draw more attention to yourself? If you kill him, you'll just bring the Alliance down on your head."

"Kai Leng has already done the honours. The bloody fool has informed the Alliance of Shepard's whereabouts on the misguided notion that it'll give us an advantage. So much for keeping a low profile." She snorted bitterly as she took in Oriana's frowning look of disbelief. "Oh yes, we know he's a fugitive on the run from the Alliance. But first things first."

Cordelia gazed at Shan for a long while. Finally, she hoisted him by the armpits and dragged him against a wall after which she methodically stripped him of weapons and all the equipment he had on his person. Oriana stood stock-still as this went on, torn between looking for something that might give her a fighting chance, yet acutely aware that any false move on her part might just snap her other twin's patience and cost Shan his life.

"Satisfied?" Cordelia asked dryly when she finished tying him up securely with a coil of wire. To her credit, she wasn't excessively ungentle in the manhandling either.

Oriana let go of a pent up breath and said cautiously, "Thank you."

"How is Shepard by the way?" Cordelia asked as she pulled out a dining chair, turning it around to straddle it, arms over the backrest. "Why don't you take a seat? I'm not in a hurry to go anywhere, I assure you."

Oriana frowned at the sudden air of geniality, but in the end, she walked back to the sofa to sit down gingerly. As she did that she couldn't help her eyes darting over to Shan, wondering when he'd wake up and how were they going to get out of this.

"Kai Leng suspected that Shepard would survive his parting gift." Cordelia continued conversationally. "But that's almost to be expected, isn't it? Together with her, they make a formidable team, maybe even offsetting the disadvantage of his outlaw status."

_Her,_ in this case,could only mean Miranda. But apart from that now familiar epithet, Cordelia's singular lack of anger at having her plans thwarted was puzzling and rang warning bells at the back of Oriana's head.

"Don't tell me you have a bone to grind with John too..."

Her third twin laughed, a sound that rang brittle and just off-pitched enough that Oriana couldn't help but frown.

"Shepard is Kai Leng's prey, someone whom I enlisted partially because I knew I would have to find a way to deal with Shepard." Another off-kilter laugh here. "I thought I had it all planned, you see. But it seems nothing goes the way I want it to."

"No plan ever survives contact with the enemy. Isn't that what they say?" Oriana replied carefully. Not that Cordelia was exactly sane even during her best moments, but tonight, there is definitely more than an air of desperation and faint hysteria surrounding her.

"Do you ever get that feeling that no matter what you do, nothing changes because everything is already set in stone?" Those blue eyes, exactly the shade of hers and Miranda's looked at her in such a stark and plaintive manner that Oriana was taken aback.

It was almost like a child asking about the meaning of life, and it struck Oriana suddenly that for all her bravado and tendency for decisive action, Cordelia had been a prisoner for more than two thirds of her life. Deprived of social interaction and a proper education, she had neither ties nor experience that regular people like herself took for granted to get around in the world.

"I never think that way, even though sometimes it feels like that's the only answer." She said seriously as she looked at Cordelia straight on. "There'll always be things beyond our control. But heck, if everyone uses that excuse and do nothing, then there'll be no change for the better."

A myriad of emotions flitted past Cordelia's face before her third twin finally looked at her in genuine wonder.

"You really _do_ believe that..."

Oriana sighed tiredly as she rubbed her forehead.

"If you weren't so bent on mocking me, you'd have figured out I always mean what I say."

"I'm sorry." Cordelia's mouth thinned as she looked away. "I suppose I'm too used to hearing lip service."

To hear Cordelia admit that was so unexpected Oriana almost couldn't believe her ears. And riding along that realisation inevitably came the painful flaring of hope that just perhaps, she might be able to get her younger sibling to abandon her mad cause after all. At the same time, she knew she had to proceed very carefully. Dealing with Cordelia was in many ways like trying to handle a wounded animal. Any sudden or drastic move would easily undo all the hard work before.

"That's why I won't stop trying, no matter how hard it is, especially if I know it's worth it." Oriana pointed out carefully. "I've said this before and I will say it again: you can't blame Miri for what you've gone through. If she'd known you were with Cerberus, she would've gotten you out of there, even if she had to kill herself along the way. And that's not my bias speaking. Because she did the exact same thing for me."

It was a measure of the effect her words had that Cordelia refused to look at her as she said this.

"Remember I was a baby." Oriana continued in a quiet voice. "She didn't owe me anything at all, but she still got me away when she escaped from the tower. You used to live there, you'd know how hard that is, especially for a sixteen year-old. And if you want to argue that she did it on an impulse, don't forget she kept our father away from me for almost twenty years after that. Just because you've never experienced something unconditional like that doesn't mean it can't exist."

It was the first time that Oriana managed to get all of that off her chest without the being interrupted by mocking interjections or curt rebuttal. And it was with bated breath that she waited to see how her younger twin would take it.

Cordelia's laugh, when it finally came, was harsh and remorseless.

"It's a nice story, and I mean it. I can see how it would be real to you. But it never came to pass for me. You don't get it, do you? It's too late. I can't change, I can't stop. Because everything will just collapse."

She finally looked up at Oriana, and the look of regret on her face shook Oriana more than any show of defiance or threat could.

"I like you. I didn't imagine I would, but I do. It'll give me no pleasure when I have to kill you."

Oriana wanted to scream in frustration even as desperation welled up like rising floodwaters within her.

"Why must you do this? _What_ _does it take to make you stop?_"

"Because I never had the luxury of choice. Even if you were to present the perfect alternative on a platter, I wouldn't know what to do with it. I can't imagine the idea of making peace with _her_. It—makes me sick just thinking of it..."

All this was delivered in a deathly voice, almost a whisper like Cordelia was arguing with herself. After which she shook her head and laughed deprecatingly, her gesture and body language so achingly like Miranda that Oriana couldn't help but shiver.

"For all it's worth, thank you for telling me all that. Maybe it's time I return the favour. In the last few weeks, I've found out certain things that I feel, for the sake of kinship—" she continued in dry irony, her tone almost back to her usual here. "—that I ought to share before everything goes to hell. Consider it my unwillingness to bear the burden alone. And perhaps then you'll understand why I say it's all too late."

Saying that, Cordelia stood up and walked over to the security station. With efficient motions, she punched in some code on the keyboard. The reason for her strange behaviour became apparent as she hit the broadcast button and a voice sounded over the speakers.

"_You have reached the Eldfell Tower security hotline. We are sorry to inform you—"_

She pressed another series of keys before she finally got a human receptionist on the line.

"Tell Miranda Lawson I have her younger sister in custody and I want to set up a meeting."

-~o~-

It was an experience Shepard didn't think he wanted to undergo again, seeing the blood drain from Miranda's face as the news sunk in. It didn't take a psychic to figure out what was going through her mind. As the implications hit him, he'd found himself cursing at the fact that they'd slipped up again. Somewhere and somehow, Cordelia had found out the location of the safehouse. It was one of the oldest tactics in the book—breaching your adversary's stronghold when he is off setting up an elaborate trap—and they fell for it, hook, line and sinker.

The worse thing had been the presence of the niggling doubt that said Oriana might've been safer with them in the tower. He'd chosen not to voice it because he'd felt uncomfortable shoving his nose into a highly-personal, not to mention tangential connection in the nascent relationship between himself and Miranda.

The feeling of recrimination would be far worse for Miranda, but she lost no time venting her frustration or even to make the attempt to return to the security office. Instead, she chose to take the call at another private meeting room nearby. He now stood unobtrusively at the side, outside of the vid pickup range, but at an angle where he could get a good view of both parties, including the reactions on their faces.

It was unsettling to see how Cordelia looked exactly like Miranda, down to her hair and attire. He knew she must've taken pains to impersonate her oldest twin to such a degree and he couldn't help thinking of the potential mishaps they'd face with two women so easily mistaken for one another.

"Hello, dear sister." The doppelganger began pleasantly, arms crossed in imitation of her oldest twin. "I'm sure Shepard has told you where I am, although I'm thinking a demonstration ought to settle any doubts." Without waiting for an answer, she reached over and swung the camera one-eighty in a wild motion, presenting them with a stomach-churning panoramic shot of the living room. As the view zipped past, Shepard was certain he saw Shan's comatose body slumped against the wall. The camera finally came to a jerky halt with Oriana on the screen. He breathed easier when he saw that she looked tense but unharmed sitting on the sofa.

"Say hi to the viewers, Ori," came Cordelia's voice off-screen in a tone so achingly like Miranda's that Shepard couldn't help wincing.

Oriana looked straight at the camera, her blue eyes wide with anxiety. It was obvious she was doing her best to remain calm.

"I'm fine, Miri." She replied in a hushed tone. Her eyes darted to the side, in the direction where Shan was before adding, "Shan's fine too. He's just unconscious at the moment."

Miranda stood stock-still as she absorbed all of this, her facade only breaking into visible relief when Oriana spoke up. Without preamble, Cordelia swung the camera back to herself again.

"_That_ was a gesture of my goodwill. As you can see I don't want an unnecessary bloodbath."

"What _is_ it you want?" Miranda finally narrowed her eyes, her voice a harsh grate.

"Simply this: I'm using Oriana here as a guarantor of sorts for me to enter the tower safely. I want all of us to meet up tonight. Call it a family gathering if you will." Cordelia cocked her head to the side here, as though she was listening to a voice off screen. "But while I get that arranged, I'd _really_ suggest you go to the labs and read up our project files. Your own especially. There are things in there that will interest you immensely. More to the point, it'll put us all on the same page when we see each other again."

Before her oldest twin could respond, Cordelia reached forward to punch the disconnect button, leaving them staring at a blank screen.

Miranda stood as though she was frozen in place for such a long time that Shepard finally placed his hand on her shoulder. Beneath her armour, he could feel the rock-hard tension in her body. Eventually, she lifted her hand to grip his briefly before she turned around, eyes blazing with anger.

But almost immediately, her shoulders slumped as she leaned back against the table edge.

"I fucked up." she whispered, slowly shaking her head. "How could I be so stupid to think Ori would be perfectly safe?"

The despair in her voice was such that Shepard felt he had to say something. Even though almost anything he could imagine saying felt like a platitude.

"You didn't." He finally pointed out. "We both know something like this might happen, but there was no way we could've foreseen it."

When she failed to respond, he was compelled to ask, "Do you believe what Cordelia said? Can we buy her show of good faith?"

She looked up at this and bit her lip in thought.

"I'd say it sounds entirely reasonable. But from what I know of her, that isn't exactly reassuring."

It was what he'd thought she would say. Nonetheless, he released a pent-up breath because her reply told him that she was getting back into her professional self, thinking practically despite the emotional blow. Which led him naturally to ask the next question.

"Are you thinking to go back to the safehouse?"

Miranda looked directly at him, agony clear as day in her eyes. Wordlessly, she turned around to punch in the code for the operations room. After a brief consultation with the personnel there, the monitor flickered to life again, this time showing the perspective of a security camera covering the main entrance of the tower. The parked Alliance shuttle could clearly be seen, with its entourage of marines milling around the perimeter. Jacob was nowhere in sight, but the behaviour of his squad said very clearly they weren't leaving anytime soon. She inclined her head at the sight.

"I'm tempted to have one of us head back, but _that_ is a problem. They're beyond the tower grounds so I can't call them out for trespassing. You're safe while you remain in here, but eventually Jacob's going to come back with that warrant. And now we have a new complication to deal with."

It was a measure of Miranda's state of distraction that she replied his question in such an oblique manner. It'd been a long time since Shepard felt this helpless. And the fact that he'd become a source of concern among the plethora that clamoured for her attention only made him even more frustrated. To top it all off, Cordelia's strongly-worded suggestion that Miranda ought to seek answers within the tower would surely strike a chord. Despite her earlier nonchalance, he knew how deeply the desire for the truth tugged at her.

"If we're going to take Cordelia at her word, we'll have to do it all the way. She doesn't seem like the sort we can reason with. And if she says she doesn't want bloodshed, going back to the safehouse now is probably a sure-fire way to get one." He extrapolated thoughtfully.

"I'm inclined to agree with you, but in the lack of information... That's really our biggest problem right now." Miranda muttered in frustration. "I feel like I'm being blindsided from every direction."

"Then go to the labs. If there's something important there that could tip the balance, you should know about it. It might even give you a chance to rebound the trap on Cordelia."

Miranda rubbed the bridge of her nose where a deep-set frown had taken root.

"What about Jacob? Not to mention Kai Leng. He has a hand in all this. It's got his stink all over. So where the hell is he?"

"Let me handle it." He said firmly. "You've got more than enough on your plate. And some demons—it's best I exorcise myself. Loan me your security forces. I'll make sure Jacob and Kai Leng stay out of your way."

She looked up, a worried expression on her face.

"I don't see how you can do that unless you reveal your whereabouts, John."

Shepard took a deep breath.

"It may come to that. I heard your cover story for Jacob. Are you fine with it if I break it?"

"It was only supposed to be a delay tactic. But you can't—"

She subsided into frustrated silence here. This past week, Shepard was more deeply aware than ever of the conflict Miranda must feel over his return to the fray. But she knew better than to hold him back or make him promise not to put himself in danger. The strength in their partnership had always lain in trusting each other to do their jobs, and he saw no reason why that had to change now. If anything else, that approach made even more sense with their newfound connection.

Reluctantly, Miranda nodded her head in deep finality.

After a moment, they came together in a heartfelt embrace. Shepard held onto her tightly even as he silently wished her all the luck and support he could give. There was no denying time was of the essence, and they broke apart eventually. And it was with lingering concern that he watched her depart the room to head back to the lift lobby.

With an effort, he wrestled his attention back to the security pickup. He could see Jacob standing at the hatch now, one hand gripping the overhead ledge, his other pressed against his ear as he talked to someone over the comm. Probably trying to expedite the issue of a search warrant, Shepard thought darkly.

A ping on his omni-tool interrupted his mental rumination here.

"_Admiral Shepard? Khalif here. Ms. Eldfell has ordered that I avail myself and my forces to your command." _

"Let's meet up. Where are you?"

"_On my way to you actually."_

The door opened almost immediately after, revealing Miranda's head of security. Khalif followed his line of vision to the vid pickup to take in the scene with all its implications.

"Looks like they have no intentions to decamp. They must want you pretty badly."

"Do you have a problem with that?" Shepard asked softly as he gazed at the other man.

Khalif returned his appraisal with a frank look.

"I'm paid a lot to do my job, Admiral. And a good part of that involves safeguarding anything my employer deems important, including secrets and sensitive information. I'd like to think I do my job well."

It was an honest answer, devoid of any sentiments that would complicate the issue, and Shepard couldn't help but find himself warming up to Khalif's all-business attitude.

"How many patrols do you have outside? Have they found any anomalies lately?"

"We've stepped up surveillance. I've got about three squads outside at the moment. Is there something we should be looking out for?"

"An ex-Alliance commando. Very skilled and dangerous. He's probably the one who tipped the Alliance off on my whereabouts. He's got to be around here somewhere monitoring the fallout."

Khalif frowned thoughtfully.

"Now that you mention it, my men found traces of monitoring outside the annexe yesterday. Someone kept a stash of parts in a very well-hidden niche. It was a stroke of luck the patrol stumbled upon it. We get a lot of paparazzi activity so I'm not inclined to take such findings seriously, but the equipment was unusually top-notch."

"The annexe? That's the building that houses the main entrance to the tower, right?"

"Right. Acting on that suspicion, we conducted an extensive search of the area, but turned up nothing. If your ex-commando is as good as you say, I wouldn't discount the possibility of passive monitoring sensors that might escape our notice."

Shepard returned his attention at the screen, his brows knitted in deep thought as he digested this. It was entirely possible that Kai Leng was preparing to set up some sort of surveillance. Whether he was successful or not wasn't the biggest concern at this late date, but the fact that he might have his eyes set on the annexe—_that_ could be used to their advantage.

If he were to remain true to his promise to Miranda about not taking unnecessary risks, all Shepard had to do was let Jacob stew outside. But in the light of the fact that Cordelia was likely to enter the tower with Oriana in tow tonight, Alliance presence was definitely a complication none of them needed. The one scenario he had no desire entertaining was Jacob barging in with a warrant at the worst time possible with Kai Leng on the sidelines inciting more chaos.

There was no other option, Shepard concluded with a heavy heart. He was acutely aware of the fact that none of this would be a problem if it wasn't for him. He was the liability and the one thing he could do now was to even the odds out for Miranda and take certain things off her mind. No, better to spring the trap set for him at a time of his own choosing. The only problem was he would have to hand in their trump card and reveal his presence to Jacob. It was a calculated risk, but if he could secure his freedom while doing that, it might be worth a shot.

"Mr. Khalif, I'm going to engage that Alliance commander in a private conversation. I'm thinking to do it in the annexe reception hall. It's not part of the tower strictly speaking, so you wouldn't have to go against Miranda's standing order of keeping them out."

Khalif frowned thoughtfully.

"That's quite dangerous, Admiral. Once they have proof you're here, they won't stop till they've apprehended you."

"Is our shuttle secure? Are there other available transports on landing pads further up?"

"Yes to both."

"Worse comes worst, that'll be my escape route. It's a risk I'm willing to take."

The annexe was a building extension made to house a massive glass and steel entrance to the tower proper. Part of the reason for the design was to imbue a more corporate feel to the place, making it look less like a billionaire's private playground. Given the architectural style, any covert agent worth their salt would find a myriad of ways to monitor whatever happened within from the outside.

Shepard narrowed his eyes and took in likely spots where Kai Leng might've set up surveillance as he stood in the centre of that open space. He'd given Khalif similar instructions, and the Eldfell head of security had placed his men on high alert to look out for suspicious activity.

The sliding door at the far end opened smoothly, and from his vantage, Shepard looked on as Jacob, escorted by two guards, walked in alone. A nod of his head dismissed those guards once they came within speaking range.

"Good to see you, Shepard." Jacob greeted him cautiously. "I'm glad you've chosen to turn yourself in."

"I don't intend to go back with you, Jacob."

The other man frowned darkly.

"Then what's the point of this meeting?"

Shepard hesitated, his prior conversation with Miranda coming to mind. But even after an hour of further reflection, he found himself unable to muster much resentment against Jacob. It was a contrast to his anger, even hatred of Kai Leng which continued to smother under the surface.

"I wanted to clear the air between us," he confessed finally. "I can't forget what happened back at the Reaper base or the fact that I pulled my gun out on you."

Jacob remained silent for a long time.

"We weren't exactly ourselves back then." He muttered grudgingly. "Not to mention how that place totally did a number on our heads. It's all water under the bridge to me. And for the record, I'm sorry my report got used as a tool to indict you." Jacob exhaled noisily here. "But it doesn't change the situation—you need to go back with me and clear your name, Shepard."

It was ironical that as little as a month ago, he might've gone on with Jacob willingly. But that was no longer the case. And Shepard wondered how long he could carry on with an argument he couldn't care less about anymore. The radio chatter filtering into his comm-unit continued to report negative sightings. But if there was one thing Shepard knew about Kai Leng, he could never resist being given things on the platter.

"I regret we've come to this stalemate, Jacob. But I—"

The attack was sudden and merciless, exactly Kai Leng's modus operandi. A flurry of shouts on the comm-system of which Shepard could only single out certain keywords was his only warning. Immediately after, he heard the whine of a shuttle's engine growing louder and louder. He looked up in alarm, and saw beyond the glass of annexe the looming bulk of a shuttle with its thrusters set in full reverse, hurtling straight towards them at an incredible speed.

"_Look out!"_

Instinctively, Shepard fired up his biotics and tackled Jacob with the full force of his mass-effect field-augmented weight. The stunt threw the both of them onto the ground and skidding out of the door just as the shuttle plummeted into the building. Steel struts groaned, bended and snapped, banks of glass shattered in an ear-piercing cacophony all over the perimeter. A loud roar began to resound as walls started crumbling from the abuse. But this was nothing compared to the ominous hiss of leaking fuel from the downed shuttle, followed by the tell-tale _whomp_ sound as a spark ignited with the volatile air, turning the whole area into a giant conflagration of fire.


	20. Chapter 6 Part 3

**A/N:** Annnnnd here is the next part of Chapter 6. There is 1 more update to go before I proceed with the last chapter, so keep your eyes peeled. Also, I really welcome any feedback, thoughts or feelings you might have, now that we're getting to the climax of the story. It's been a long and eventful trip so far, and there's still quite a bit more to go, and it'd be great if I get a sense of how all of you are enjoying _or_ not enjoying the story so far. :)

Special kudos to Ieldra who undertook the effort to write all the science parts into convincing jargon that explains in detail the genetic processes for those who are interested in such things. In case you're wondering, we worked our asses out to make this whole setup work with existing scientific knowledge as much as we could. ;)

* * *

_You can't possibly keep the wolves away forever, Miri._

That fateful conversation kept replaying in Miranda's mind as she walked towards the lift lobby. And it was with a heart-clutching pain that she realised this time, she'd led them right to Oriana's doorstep instead.

There was no other way to look at it. Well-meaning advice from Shepard, defiant protests by Oriana—she'd shrugged them off in her obsession to keep her younger twin safe beyond all reason, safe from information that might turn her world upside down, safe from witnessing a confrontation between herself and Cordelia. To achieve all of that, she had outright quashed the pragmatic notion that the tower would've been the best physical refuge.

On autopilot, she punched the button for the turbo lift. When the doors slid open, she stepped in and leaned tiredly against the metal wall.

It was so hard learning to let go. Every time she thought she'd achieved some progress, the next incident proved she hadn't. It had been that way with Oriana, and it seemed it might become the same problem with Shepard. Perhaps it was just as well that that the events now set into motion were beyond her control. This wasn't something she could ever shrug off. And come hell or high water, once this situation was resolved, Miranda knew she would have to face this particular demon and conquer it once and for all.

"_Please input your desired destination."_

The automated voice program rudely interrupted the impending collision that was her line of thought. Done was done. She had to trust that Shepard could take care of himself the same way she needed to scramble now to ensure Oriana's safety. And it was with heroic effort that she clamped down on the self-castigation and doubt that now seized her heart to concentrate on the banal task of selecting a destination.

The method Eldfell adopted when it came to designing the layout of his tower was simple. The public offices of numerous companies and subsidiaries he owned, forming the bulk of his investments, were mostly housed in the lower levels. The more valuable and more classified he deemed his possession or project, the higher it was located along that two-kilometre height.

The significance of her old suite of rooms being on the topmost levels had taken a while to settle in when Miranda had studied the architectural blueprints. Soon after, she couldn't help but notice that the biolabs were directly below that. As she lifted her finger to punch in the level of the labs, she hesitated for the fraction of a second. It was as though her body retained its mimetic memory, recalling oft-repeated motions from decades past. She could recall the times when she'd been right in this space, wondering which levels were accessible to her, and would contain things that would interest her young mind.

A slip of the finger and the button for level of her old rooms lit up. She moved to countermand her decision, but soon after, her hand dropped back down. The elevator began to climb. The speed was soon such that the level indicator began to change only every tenth floor. The flickering of the numbers mesmerised her as much as they did almost thirty years ago and it was with a jolt that she came back to herself when the elevator chimed and the door slid open.

Slowly, as if in a dream, she exited the space to step into a painfully familiar lobby. There was a security terminal embedded into the wall nearby. A brief inspection of the security log said the rooms had been locked up dating back to the time of her escape, a lock-down that hadn't been breached for the past twenty-nine years.

She was the first person to enter this area after all this time. It was a measure of how good the filtration was that only a thin film of dust coated every surface. Nothing else detracted from the homecoming experience; the decades of absence wiped away as easily as the dust with the brush of mental fingers. So much so that Miranda stopped short when she saw that the pendulum clock in her study room had winded down, its clock hands frozen in time.

It'd probably stopped the day she'd jumped off the tower. The clock been a birthday gift from her father, made by a renowned master from the last century. Despite her reservations about receiving gifts from that quarter, she'd loved it and used it for her concentration exercises while sitting at the rosewood table, another personal favourite. Funny how she'd had to steel herself to leave them behind. Only to spend the next twenty-nine years living out of a suitcase, never having anything in terms of permanent possessions.

Leaning against the table, Miranda closed her eyes and swallowed hard against the memories of growing up here and the heartache of returning. She couldn't help but wonder why her father ordered her suite of rooms to be locked up. Along with every action—from the way he used to treat her, to hiding his involvement with Cerberus all these years, and now making her the sole beneficiary of his estate, giving her the keys to the reason for her existence—none of this came with a single footnote to explain his motives. She was left with a legacy that couldn't be deciphered more so now that he was gone.

One thing was clear. There were no answers to be found in here. With a heavy heart, she walked back to the lift and punched in the floor for the labs. The door of the database room opened to security presence that twitched with hair-trigger reflexes before relaxing again.

"Clear the room please."

"Yes, ma'am." One of the guards murmured and in unison they vacated the control room at her command.

Slowly, she surveyed the room. Here was where all the records would be stored and all the monitoring equipment for the various experiments going on kept. The hum from the sophisticated computer databanks was pervasive, and almost tentatively, she walked towards one of the consoles to input her personal code.

Highly-encrypted files dating back decades before her birth bloomed into existence at her touch almost magically. Some of these were privy only to her father and at most one or two of the top scientists that had worked on the project. Their silence had been bought or guaranteed in multiple ways.

Taking a deep breath, Miranda sat down and hit the master override command, bypassing all locks to open them at once. Instinctively, her eyes began speed reading, starting from files dating back more than fifty years ago. They detailed her father's struggles to get the project off foot on his own, without Cerberus aid back then. Some of the early results were chilling, especially those detailing the outcome of the first few test subjects, in other words, the sisters that came before her.

It was decided even at that stage that certain modifications would have to be done post-natal. And so they became the first retroactive engineering subjects, marked to undergo similar tests she'd underwent. None of them managed to survive long, expiring from shock from the extensive biological trauma. _That_ had paved the way for the creation of the genetic trait to accelerate the healing process and raise the pain threshold in later subjects, herself included, to survive the experience.

It was more than a little disturbing to read the details presented in cold clinical language, and she couldn't help shaking her head as she proceeded to browse the files that recounted the nuts and bolts of the project.

Eldfell had cast a wide net in his search for original material. Ova from an unidentified donor from the top one percent of the human population had been obtained at great cost. The list of criteria had been mind-boggling—to be certified free of genetic defects, in possession of an almost incredible level of natural intelligence quotient, having multiple rare immunities to particular diseases and such.

Not that it had mattered, since ultimately the nucleus of the ova was removed, the twenty-three original chromosomes of the donor's discarded. In its place would nestle the genetic cocktail that her father had painstakingly spliced together, and then with the aid of chemical triggers, encouraged to enter cellular division. Nonetheless, there were some parts of the cell that remained—parts that would've been inherited by all subsequent generations and the most important one was mitochondrial DNA.

Talk revolving around DNA usually referred to nuclear DNA, which is the construction blueprint to create an entire human being. They are a combination of genetic traits supplied by each parent, mother and father. Mitochondria, however, are structures that exist outside of the nucleus and are responsible for the conversion of energy from food into a form that can be utilised by cells. These structures carry their own distinctive set of DNA, and are solely inherited from the mother.

Eldfell had ordered for the original donor's mtDNA to be altered and made more efficient in how it converted energy for each cell. That alteration was authorised to be passed down to every generation. Miranda had a good idea why that order had been given. It was beneficial overall, more so for biotics, who need to harness large amounts of energy whenever they fire their eezo nodules. She didn't know if her father was prescient or not since the inclusion of biotics was a late development. Only that this particular piece of engineering existed even before her own conception.

Apart from that, all that was left of the donor was a number ID. She stared at the seemingly nonsensical designation. When she'd told Shepard she never had a mother, perhaps that wasn't true. Whoever this mysterious egg-donor was, she was the closest thing to a mother Miranda and all her sisters shared. And it was impossible not to wonder what kind of person the donor had been and how she looked like.

Like an unwilling dreamer unable to wake up from a deeply disturbing dream, she set aside that particular file. This was when her eyes chanced on another with her name in it—_DM3F-2150.9723!BT4-Miranda_.

This was probably it—the mother lode. And it was with trepidation that she made herself open the file. Scanning through the contents was so habitual that it wasn't something she could make herself stop. Some of the information she'd already known and had shared with Shepard and Oriana—that she was created before the prenatal effects of eezo were documented, so she had to be artificially made a biotic. The process had involved undergoing long bouts of surgery plus other highly invasive procedures that were so gruelling that she only had hazy memories of that particular phase of her childhood.

No surprise there. All of that was documented in the file. Perhaps that was why the next part caught her totally off-guard...

_Timestamps – subject age: 10 Earth Standard. Phase of retroactive engineering: currently in stage 2. Behavioural and fully-expressed physical characteristics 90% done. With the coming onset of puberty, all traits should manifest to their full potential. _

_Stage 2 involves retroactive engineering of reproductive and developmental systems, in particular alterations of the menstrual cycle and pregnancy processes (stage 2-2) as well as reprogramming of the ova (stage 2-1). _

_Stage 2-1 consists of splicing into the host's ova the core N genecomplex and genetic switches controlling the temporal and spatial distribution of gene expression during foetal development. The genecomplex itself will enable and control the formation of eezo nodules at most effective nodes within the infant-stage nervous system. These nodules are necessarily minute, and will require further cultivation via environmental eezo absorption post-natal to reach effective sizes. Cut off should be at around 12 years of age, earth standard. After which for female subjects, resumption would depend on the onset of pregnancy. Read below._

_Stage 2-2 will alter all phases of pregnancy as to enable the transfer of resources needed for expression of the N genecomplex in the foetus, without disrupting normal biological functions. Its main functions will be as follows: _

_In the menstrual cycle, progesterone levels will trigger production of the eezo transport chain in addition to the standard processes during the pre-implantation phase. The main components of the eezo transport chain are carrier proteins, transfer catalysts and highly specific immune suppressors (see attached documentation for the complete list). _

_Should pregnancy occur, the levels of the chain's components will be controlled to stay roughly proportional to the growth rate of the foetus' nervous system, and the chain will be extended by protein channels in the placental capillary system to allow the carriers to pass into the foetus and the amniotic fluid. Control of the assimilation process will pass to the fetus' N genecomplex at this point._

_In parallel, as eezo is siphoned off from existing nodules, eezo intake from the environment and its metabolisation, which was switched off at adolescence, will be reactivated by a simple genetic switch. Since this process is dependent on environmental factors which cannot be controlled, nodules can experience erratic contractions and expansions during all phases of the pregnancy [side note: this could be used to increase the power level in an adult if nutritional recommendations are followed closely]._

_All documented changes here are necessarily summarised, please see attached files for each of the specific processes for a more complete report._

Her eyes sought the information relentlessly, even mindlessly. It took far longer for her mind to process the significance. But as piece after piece clicked into place, the mental chokehold became stronger and stronger until the sense of suffocation was almost palpable.

The report went on to talk about the success of encoding all these biological processes into a series of dominant alleles. It related the sheer technical difficulty of altering all her ova, since women were born with their ova and no more new ones were created. Nonetheless, it had been done. And everything that had been retroactively engineered into her would be reflected in all the chromosomes within her ova. The lengthy document eventually signed off the project as being tentatively successful, concluding with a note that her genetic template should be monitored to ensure all final developments took place smoothly at the onset of puberty.

Miranda rested her head against the table, and swallowed hard. The room felt preternaturally cold, the table surface icy. She shivered, finally comprehending what her father had done to her and the time bomb he'd placed in her genes. Almost all the genes involved in the time-released functions were hidden or piggybacked onto what were otherwise normal genetic expressions, dormant until the relevant switches came into play and made them active. It was easy to overlook them in a generic scan, and that'd been what had happened all these years.

Imagine if she never knew all this, and went ahead with what was the natural progression of things. Only to find out years later, past the point of no return...

But even as the logical conclusions unfolded, a large part of her continued to struggle with disbelief. The scientist in her couldn't help but reel from the revelations. The sheer engineering and ingenuity involved was absolutely staggering. All this went to explain why she would have the exact genetic template as Oriana, because Oriana's had been based on her own after extensive retro-engineering. But it was absolute hubris for her father to imagine that he could create a genetic dynasty even with twenty clones! That fact couldn't have possibly escaped him. Besides, against the immense gene pool that was the human population, they were just a drop in the ocean!

The whole situation was beginning to take on the characteristics of a cosmic joke. And as if replying to her attempt at denial, her helplessly roving attention became arrested by the cryptic title of another file: _Social Projections and Extrapolations_. Unable to tear her eyes off the screen, she opened it.

_A series of safeguards have been implemented to ensure that certain behavioural traits are encouraged and practised to maximise the propagation of the genetic template. At puberty, traits like a heightened libido, enhanced fertility in the form of an altered menstrual cycle will come into play. _

_The final step is the introduction of a revolutionary biological function – a genetic agent, an organelle that works on foetal stem cells in the form of a series of one-time repair mechanisms that would transform any N0 genotype into an NN genotype in the earliest phases of embryogenesis. The repair mechanisms will identify any possible allele provided by the other parent and replace it with the N allele if not already present. The process will be finished with blastula formation, so that all primordial germ cells will be of the NN genotype. _

_Predicting population growth and distribution continues to remain a tricky endeavour influenced by many factors, but given certain constants like a lack of preference for or against biotics, complete freedom of movement, a lack of catastrophic 'extinction level' events, a estimated number of 4 billion human beings could possibly carry the gene complex in 1000 years' time. _

Miranda began to laugh, a laugh that contained more than a hysterical tinge. It seemed her father had done the impossible after all. The same way it was now impossible for her not to feel that sense of bodily dissonance. The urge to source inward was overwhelming, and the part of her that was human and female was deeply aware of the sensation that somehow along the way, she'd lost control of her own body, that it no longer belonged to her.

The silence of the labs was deep, broken only by the low hum of machinery—the same low hum she'd imagine that blood would make coursing through her arteries, the frantic activities of all the individual cells that make up her body, relentless and immutable in performing what they'd been programmed to do, against what she knew was normal for human biology. With a sinking feeling, she realised even her expressed wishes and desires weren't her own—they were behaviours inculcated by her genetic programming. And riding on that thought was a fear that stunned her to realise how real it could be.

Her thoughts travelled back to the last week and her reunion with Shepard. In the heady atmosphere, she'd forgotten that her infertility was cured and that she wasn't on any birth control. She'd since estimated she was in her safe period, but in the light of the new information, there was no way but to admit to the possibility that even right now, a nascent life could be growing within her womb, in exact accordance to the template dictated by her father...

-~o~-

It'd taken all of Oriana's self-restraint to clamp down on her anger and fear so she could calmly report to Miranda regarding Shan's and her relative safety. And now that she'd heard Cordelia's parting words before the abrupt cut off of the comm-channel, her frustration dealing with their youngest sibling rose to the point where the words simply blurted out of her mouth.

"What? Are you having a change of plans now?"

Cordelia laughed as she retraced her steps to take seat on the same chair again.

"No. We're simply going for a detour. The calm before the storm if you like." Once her elbows were resting comfortably across the backrest, she gazed at Oriana intently. "Have you ever wondered why Cerberus was singularly so interested in getting their hands on one of us?"

Oriana's attention darted from Shan back at Cordelia almost guiltily. It worried her that he still hadn't shown any signs of stirring, so much so she had to remind herself that despite Cordelia's apparent geniality, her youngest twin was a greatly mercurial creature. Any moment, the oft-familiar hostility could return with devastating effect, and with a deep breath, she tried her best to keep the irritation out of her voice.

"I'm not sure I get what you mean. Heck, they had Miri for decades, and they didn't attempt to conduct any kind of experimentation on her."

Cordelia responded with a dry look which she'd learned to interpret as "are you stupid?" Except this time, the gesture was almost sisterly that Oriana was somewhat taken aback.

"That's because we're all replaceable. If I hadn't been given up as a sacrificial lamb, our dear oldest would've suffered the same fate as myself. Now as _I_ was about to say before you threw me off-track—" She went on almost candidly. "The answer may seem deceptively simple, isn't it? Except our most obviously beneficial traits—fast healing, longevity, superior intellect and augmented reflexes—all these are simply red herrings. It takes an obscene sum of money to incorporate that entire range into a single person, but none of them are groundbreaking by any standard. Besides, these traits will be bred out of existence in as few as five generations once we start mingling with the general populace. Certainly not something worthy enough to be called a 'genetic dynasty'."

Oriana's frown took on a thoughtful quality as she carefully turned these words over. As much as she hated to admit it, it made sense. After all, it'd been a question both she and Miranda had pondered over and came up none the wiser. What they hadn't thought of was the Cerberus angle, which would naturally be at the foremost of Cordelia's mind.

"So you're saying they're a smokescreen to hide something in our genetic template?"

The animosity that Oriana had come to expect from Cordelia whenever Miranda came into the picture was still strangely absent. Instead, her tone was more bitter and despairing than anything else.

"_She_ was fortunate enough to find a course of work that made full use of almost every of those traits, But in the end, it doesn't matter. According to our father's mandate, her value, along with every one of us, lies in the fact that we are unwitting tools, useless in ourselves, valuable only in the offspring we bring about."

Oriana couldn't help but roll her eyes. Not this again. She was getting quite sick of the fact that she was the last to know anything of importance. It was bad enough that she had to suffer one sister's well-meaning intentions which meant she was always left in the dark, always needing to solicit information from others. And now here was another intend on playing riddles with her.

"Has this got something to do with the fact that we're all biotics without having undergone prenatal exposure to eezo?"

She snapped out her question brusquely, at which Cordelia simply raised her brow.

"I must say you continue to surprise me, Ori." Her younger twin murmured half to herself. "I assume you learned that from her? Does that mean she already knows what's encoded into our genes?"

"Oh, for crying out loud..." Oriana growled, her ire rising. "Next you'll be telling me that our father has found a way to make us genetic biotics. Well, here's my answer: eezo doesn't exist in the natural environment of Earth. It's impossible to create genetic biotics with humans because our biology doesn't have the infrastructure to support it in the first place. So now that we've got that out of the way, why don't you just tell me what _is_ it you want to say?"

It'd been one of the most frequently-asked questions in human schools on asari worlds, and the answer repeated so often by exasperated teachers that Oriana didn't even thought to sound out the possibility to Miranda. Which was why Cordelia's absolutely stunned look took her entirely by surprise.

"You're kidding me, right?" Oriana said in a small voice that grew stronger in conviction as she continued. "You've got to be. What _is_ with all of you treating me like a kid?" Just because I'm not in this cloak and dagger business like the both of you doesn't mean I would shatter like porcelain if I hear any bad news!"

A harsh laugh was her answer this time.

"And the moment I pay you my first compliment, you force me to take it back. Grow up, little girl. Firstly, I _never_ joke and secondly, this is not remotely about you or your personal insecurities," came Cordelia's curt rebuttal. "Aiken Eldfell was the richest man on Earth, his ability to muster resources and manpower second only to the scope of his ambition. You simply can't imagine that his ambition knew no bounds, do you?"

Oriana shook her head adamantly. Genetic theory was one of her weakest subject in school, which in her case, meant it was the one subject she'd failed to _ace_. The basics remained firm in her mind.

"Stop lying to me please. His boundless ambition remains pointless if the objective is scientifically impossible in the first place. There's no way to create human genetic biotics. We'd have to include alien biological processes into human physiology, and that's just bad science. Besides like you just mentioned, any genetic trait would get bred out within a few generations."

Cordelia's eyes grew cold and flinty.

"I assure you I've done my homework, even paid for that information with human lives. And you're right. The only way is to encode new biological processes, processes based off asari physiology, refined and then made compatible with human biology. Which was exactly what he did. All the processes were tested and encoded into _her_ retroactively before they were replicated in the rest of us. The whole package comes with a self-propagating mechanism, a genetic cuckoo's egg if you will, which guarantees that it will always express itself with each generation. What our father has done ensures there's no way this particular gene complex will be diluted and bred out of the human population."

She took in Oriana's stunned expression and continued in a soft voice, "And so we're now bound on a course to spread a genetic template that's no longer wholly human, consisting of parts borrowed from other alien races – all to satisfy a mad man's craze to create a legacy that would resound through the ages."

Oriana shivered at the deep revulsion that coloured Cordelia's words. It was a feeling she could very well identify with. And warring with that sense of alienation was deep doubt. Much as she tried, she couldn't accept what Cordelia said. It was too far-fetched for starters, but a small part of her that took in all the details and saw how they clicked into place insisted that this whole presentation, done in honesty or for an ulterior motive, couldn't be discounted.

She wanted to scream that she never wanted this – all these gifts so overtly and lavishly bestowed. There was _always_ a price for such things, and now to learn that the price involved having a different genetic makeup from the rest of the human race, one that included non-human elements, and that any future children she might have would be saddled with the same curse...

Out of all her sisters, she was the one most untouched by the circumstances of her origins. If only she'd never met Miranda, or not be as inquisitive and tenacious as she'd been in maintaining that connection, she could've gone on living her life wistfully without knowing better. But for the umpteenth time, the voice in Oriana's head reminded her that she'd still likely have found all this out the moment her father's henchmen got to her. Even worse, it would've been a discovery made more painful for not knowing at all.

"It's still not possible." She shook her head stubbornly as she forced herself to look at the issue from every angle. "The reason for our existence had been something that'd always bothered Miri, and she's got all these years to find out and examine what's in our genetic template. I can't believe she wouldn't know of something like this."

"That's because the timebomb is encoded and hidden so well within regular gene sequences that if she didn't know what she was looking for, she wouldn't know where to start." Cordelia responded dryly. "And you said yourself that she's hidden things from you before. I'd imagine this wouldn't be the first or the last time."

Oriana stared at her youngest twin mulishly. No, she refused to believe that Miranda would hide something so big from her knowledge. It was impossible to tell if Cordelia was trying to drive a wedge between them, but she knew once she let that seed of a doubt take root, there would be no end to the matter.

Cordelia shrugged insouciantly, seemingly unaffected by her resistance.

"If you don't believe what I said, then it may be in your interest to enter the tower with me peacefully. All the original files pertaining to our conception are in there. It'll be proof none of us can deny."

It was a _very_ tempting proposition. Once and for all, she would be able to learn everything for herself, not from a second-hand account, and without worrying that her source was attempting to hide things from her out of good intentions or malice.

But in doing so, she would give Cordelia a free ticket into a stronghold that was arguably their trump card. Cordelia's expressed intention to kill them all, including the pains she took to physically impersonate Miranda wasn't lost to Oriana. The fact that her youngest sister's oft-expressed hostility towards Miranda was strangely absent all this time rung warning bells as well. How much of what she said was the truth? How much of it a ruse to gain access to the tower? Never had yea and nay warred so hard within Oriana.

"What kind of game are you playing at?" She demanded almost desperately. "If you're going to kill all of us, does any of this matter?"

Ever since she'd accidentally broached a red button issue of Cordelia's right at the start of their acquaintance and almost paid for the mistake with her life, Oriana had done her best to be careful over what she said and did in front of her third twin. Perhaps it was dumb luck that'd been on her side all this time. If so, her luck finally ran out.

Cordelia's face grew mottled, her eyes livid with rage. The change in her mood was so drastic and sudden that Oriana couldn't help but hunch her shoulders in instinctual preparation for the retaliatory blow. As it turned out, it didn't come, but she looked on in shock as biotic energy limned Cordelia's form after which she proceeded to smash the chair she'd sat on to smithereens. As a finishing move, her youngest twin stabbed a chair leg straight into the carpeted floor, the momentum and strength behind the thrust so excessive it dug into the wooden panelling beneath like a hot knife through butter.

"Matter? Does any of this matter? _How dare you ask that question?_ The world, the galaxy, creation owns it to me!" She jabbed a finger into her chest. "_I_ didn't ask to be born. _I_ didn't ask to be someone else's tool, to suffer for reasons beyond my control!"

Cordelia kicked at the slanted chair leg with all her might, uncaring of the pain or injury she was causing to herself. But gradually, she slowed down and finally stopped. Eyes fixed on the ground, she continued, her voice lowering to a guttural whisper.

"I'm going to do my best to make sure that our father's plan for a genetic dynasty never reaches fruition. If that means killing every clone out there, if it means I have to commit murder and mayhem to acquire the money and resources to find out how many there are, and where they all are, so be it. I'm going to make damn sure that there won't be another generation. The best way to do it is to get to every single of us before we start to breed. Wipe out the root of the problem. Make sure the template to create natural human biotics will never get the chance to propagate."

Cordelia sat down on the floor after her voice trailed off. The motion was so sudden, and her limbs sprawled so haphazardly that it was as if strength had left her body in a rush.

Movement registered in the corner of Oriana's eyes. Shan was stirring and regaining consciousness, but ironically that particular concern, once pressing, had been replaced. Her eyes remained riveted on the spectacle before her.

"How many of us are there out there? How many have you killed?" Oriana breathed in a still voice. She'd never dared to ask that question directly before. Her youngest twin's assertion that they were the only three left was what had been gleaned through offhanded references. In the light of what she'd just been told, it became pressing now to know the exact number.

"Twelve. All younger than us." Cordelia finally looked up at her, those grey-blue eyes seemingly as stunned as hers, but for whatever reasons, God only knew. "As far as I know, our father had been releasing batches of newborns every few years, distributed to orphanages and foster homes all over the galaxy to avoid detection. There could be as many as a hundred of us out there."

Cordelia laughed, a sound without strength or conviction, as she gripped the splintered edges of the chair leg, not caring that the wood dug into her hands. After a while, she spoke up again in a deathly whisper.

"Of course, the attrition of war may have helped whittle down that number. But we're engineered to survive by any means necessary, aren't we? Beat us down, starve us of affection, drive us mad with torture, and we're still near impossible to kill. After all, it doesn't matter that we're crippled as long as we follow the biological drive that dictates what our father wants us to do..."

The silence in that aftermath was so absolute that a single pin drop would've shattered the spell. Distantly, Oriana noticed that Shan was now awake, his eyes wide open as he listened in on the conversation. But that was eclipsed by the experience she just underwent. Never in her life had she heard such immense despair and hurt in another person's voice.

_We've failed her. We've failed her so badly..._

That thought rose again and again even as she sat stock-still, torn between going forward to comfort Cordelia and fearing the rebuff that might turn violent. Try as she might otherwise, the rawness and depth of Cordelia's anger and bitterness finally gave her the most compelling reason to believe that all her youngest, most wayward sibling had said might be true.

It was strange, almost surreal, really. Every time a reason arose to distrust Cordelia, another would take its place, urging her to sympathise with her youngest sister. Oriana closed her eyes, assaulted by a deep sense of tiredness. A part of her recognised belatedly now that her reluctance to believe had stemmed partially from how every single shred of evidence seemed to cut too close to home. But if she had to believe, she knew she would need to verify every single detail for herself.

And it was with a sinking feeling that she realised it was likely she'd have to become the key that would give Cordelia ready access to the tower. Silently, Oriana could only pray that Miranda would forgive her when the time came.


	21. Chapter 6 Part 4

**A/N:** And so we come to the end of Chapter 6. Whew, it's been quite a journey! Kudos to Ieldra again for the science parts and meticulous beta-reading. For the record again, we literally spent _weeks_ making sure the background science is as realistic and adhering to current scientific knowledge as much as possible. Acknowledgement also goes out to fongiel for his input on the fight scenes. And last but not least, thank you all for the feedback I've been getting. I appreciate them all, whether it's constructive criticism or just your personal thoughts on the story in general. :) Now onwards to the final chapter!

* * *

Two things occurred simultaneously to Shepard's mind even as he tackled Jacob in a bid to escape the death-trap that was the annexe building. His haunch about Kai Leng being responsible for the surveillance made for a mental fist-pump, but once he recovered from the daze caused by the rapid change of events, he realised with dismay that he was now effectively out of the tower, and on grounds where the Alliance squad could apprehend him without repercussions.

That realisation was further cemented when his visor earpiece crackled to static life.

"Admiral Shepard?" Khalif's voice carried an uncharacteristic tinge of urgency. "We're temporarily cut off from the entrance. I've sent patrols out to reinforce you, but it will take them awhile to get to your position. I'm going to ask Ms. Eldfell for permission to activate some of the automated defences."

"No, that's a negative. Don't bother Miranda over this." Shepard replied as he rose shakily to his feet. "Besides, the last thing we need is accidental casualties. That'll bring the Alliance hammer down hard on all of us. I can take care of myself until reinforcement arrives. Put the rest of your men on the lookout for suspicious persons and activities."

He shook his head in an attempt to clear his residual daze as he toggled off the link and turned to stare at the giant wreck that used to be the annexe entrance. Large parts of the structure were still on fire and debris continued to rain down from crumbling sections, the groan of tortured steel and shattering masonry playing accompaniment to the roar of flames.

The radio chatter between Eldfell forces had increased several-fold after the crash with preliminary search parties reporting no evidence that there was anyone inside the shuttle. That meant the entire stunt was likely staged via remote control. The trajectory and velocity of that shuttle crash was impeccable, orchestrated for maximum impact. If it was under any other circumstances, he would've been amazed by it, and even now, he had to force his brain to play catch-up on how the whole set up was put together.

"Wha...what the_ fuck _was that_? _No_, _let me rephrase: _who_ the fuck did that?"

Jacob groaned as he struggled to his feet. Shepard grimaced and stretched forth a hand in apology. That biotically-enhanced tackle had been necessary to get them out of the way, but it was almost equal to the force he usually used against enemy targets. The Alliance squad milling outside had shaken themselves out of their stupor to come running up to their commander although they stopped short, hovering around in uncertainty as Jacob accepted Shepard's gesture of help.

"It's Kai Leng. He's here somewhere." Shepard said tersely as Jacob regained his footing. The more he thought about it, the more he became certain the gamble to use himself as bait to lure Kai Leng into action had paid off. Few in the galaxy could orchestrate a stunt of that complexity with such panache.

"Kai Leng."

Jacob spat the name out like a mouthful of food gone bad. But almost immediately, suspicion clouded his expression.

"What makes you say that, Shepard?"

It was Shepard's hope that he could bank on that particular memory and persuade Jacob to put aside their differences to deal with Kai Leng. It wasn't rational, but resolving this particular outstanding issue once and for all had become something he had to do. If Kai Leng were to walk off scot-free this last time, he knew he would regret it for the rest of his life. There was no doubt he couldn't sustain the requirements needed to be an active combatant much longer. The muscle relaxants were simply a band-aid to a problem even when cured, would spell the end of any combat soldier's career. But soldiering wasn't the only thing he was good at.

"Tell me, Jacob—why did you accept the assignment to capture me?" Shepard turned to gaze at the other man gravely. "You could've refused if what you said about everything being water under the bridge is true. Considering how long we've known each other, I think I deserve an honest answer."

It was Jacob's turn to hesitate.

"Secure the immediate area," he instructed his squad before gesturing Shepard towards a niche in the nearby walls which gave a better measure of safety than the open area they were in.

"It was a personal favour to Admiral Hackett," Jacob replied quietly when they reached the corner.

Shepard frowned. _That_ was a new development and totally unexpected.

"You're going to have to fill me in."

"There's not much to tell. He called me to his office, said military side got a tip-off on your whereabouts from a source that used a modified decade-old Alliance encryption code to pipe in the details. Wasn't amateur work either. The connection couldn't have been made if not for the fact that the sending location was deliberately made traceable. Hackett suspected some kind of political foul-play or someone who harbours a deep grudge against you."

Jacob's voice dropped to a gruff mutter here. "Either way, there was a good chance they'd be gunning hard for your life. So I promised him I'd do my best to watch your back and return you to the Alliance safely."

The fact that he would get Hackett into trouble by jumping parole had been something constantly at the back of Shepard's mind. And it was humbling to realise that the admiral still continued to look out for him. What arrested Shepard's attention, however, was Hackett's suspicion that the tip-off was the result of someone holding a grudge. It was the perfect opening for what he had to say next.

"Kai Leng never forgot the fact that _we_ put him in jail once all his crimes came to light. Think about it, Jacob. He'd have access to encryption codes dating to that time but not beyond after he got discharged from service the first time. Don't forget too Hackett presided over Kai Leng's trial after we handed him over to the Alliance. Apart from the _Normandy's _command staff, he knew best how much Kai Leng hated my guts. And that shuttle crash—how many people we know are capable of that?"

Doubt flittered across Jacob's face before being replaced by a thoughtful frown.

"How did Kai Leng get on your trail in the first place?"

Shepard took a deep breath here and mentally rehearsed the key points of the cover story he had in mind—one that left the issue of Cordelia and what secrets the tower might contain conveniently out of the picture.

"I suspect he's been spying on me ever since New Canton, but couldn't make his move with all the constant surveillance around me. Until I broke parole to join Miranda here. He's already tried to ambush me once. We've been playing a cat-and-mouse game for a month since." Fortunately, there was no need to feign his grim laugh. "Guess he's getting impatient, and decided he doesn't care anymore about incurring further Alliance wrath taking you down as collateral damage."

Jacob's expression grew darker by the moment as he carefully laid out each point and inwardly, Shepard couldn't help his sense of satisfaction at the other man's response. Jacob had been one of Kai Leng's most vehement detractors during the latter's brief stint on the _SR2_. The fight that ended with the ex-commando being handed over to Alliance jurisdiction had resulted in the deaths of many crew, crew that both of them had served with since the ship's commission. The failure in how they'd misjudged Kai Leng was felt deeply by Shepard, but it was also a sentiment shared by the command crew.

"I want him brought to justice. For all who died from his hand, to make sure it'll never happen again, for my peace of mind—I _want_ closure, Jacob." Shepard continued in a quiet voice. "I think that's something we both can agree on. A lot of what happened was beyond our control, but this is one mistake we can amend. Both of us know best how Kai Leng operates. If he gives us the slip, we may never get the chance again to right this particular wrong."

Jacob remained silent for a long time. He had been wrong before; Kai Leng was damning testimony to that, but Shepard was willing to bet Jacob had been entirely truthful with him so far. And he could only hold on to that conviction, until the other man finally threw a frustrated fist against the wall.

"You're right." Jacob growled reluctant admission. "Kai Leng is our priority. So what's the deal?"

Silently, Shepard released his pent-up breath. There was still the question of what next if they happened to be successful in apprehending Kai Leng, and he firmed his resolve not to dwell on what he'd have to do when that time came.

They left the niche to walk towards smothering ruins that used to be the tower entrance. The remains of the cargo shuttle with its Eldfell markings were visible through the gaps. All this time, further intelligence had continued to filter through Shepard's earpiece and he crossed his arms as he carefully sieved out the pertinent information.

"Eldfell guards have confirmed that shuttle came from the parking lot over at the marina to the south. They still haven't found any evidence of a pilot. To remote control it with such precision, Kai Leng must be somewhere between here and the lot. He may have used a camera or two for timing purposes, but I'll bet he's got his eyes on us personally for that final drop."

"That would be his style, alright," Jacob muttered darkly. After a moment's thought, he toggled on his comm link.

"I want everyone in a search pattern starting from this area. Fan out towards the cargo lot south-side. We have a new target—a man of Chinese ancestry, possibly in disguise, armed and highly dangerous. I want him taken alive. Repeat: I _want_ him alive."

It was impossible to hear the responses, but doubt was written across the faces of every Alliance soldier in their vicinity. Their eyes darted uncertainly between Shepard and their commander. It was obvious they knew he was supposed to be the target of their mission here, but one by one, they murmured affirmation before dispersing to carry out Jacob's orders. Shepard breathed mixed relief. It'd come to the point where he didn't care if they got Kai Leng dead or alive. But the only way the arrangement would work was if he deferred to Jacob's wishes. He fired up his own comm-link.

"Mr. Khalif?"

"_Yes, Admiral?"_

"I've reached an agreement with the Alliance commander. We'll be working together for now to apprehend that ex-commando so tell your men to lay off his squad. Share intelligence and coordinate the search with them. I'd also suggest a public announcement to advise non-combatants to vacate the general area."

"_Understood, sir."_

The channel went dead with an electronic whisper as Shepard drew his shotgun before jogging off towards a gap where the western side of the annexe rubbed shoulders with a modest-sized shopping complex. Almost immediately, he could hear Jacob's footsteps close behind.

"Don't mind if I tag along," Jacob murmured once the space opened up shortly to accommodate them side by side. Shepard made a wry snort. Of course Jacob wouldn't want him out of sight. A court order was no longer necessary since he'd revealed his whereabouts, but still, Shepard couldn't help his curiosity.

"How's the search warrant coming along?" He asked as they exited the alley into the next area—a commercial square with low-laying rows of shops flanking four sides. It wasn't a likely place for Kai Leng to station himself at; the buildings were too low to provide good vantage. Still, he'd certainly have moved in the ten minutes since the shuttle crash, and the lack of cover here made for a certain degree of risk.

As they scanned the area, Jacob took the opportunity to consult his omni-tool.

"Just came through actually."

Shepard could only shake his head. He'd anticipated the expediency, but nonetheless, the speed still surprised him.

"It once took me a week to requisition office supplies. Just my luck red tape gets abolished the moment I leave, huh?"

"More like it's gone to pave your way to the courtroom. Warrants are now handled by the civil side. You're their meal ticket, Shepard." Jacob supplied almost diffidently as he finalised the settings on his weapon. "There's a high chance the outcome of your trial will determine the number of votes they'll get in the next election."

Shepard laughed darkly.

"I can't complain. Always been a firm believer of waste not, want not."

"I hear ya." Jacob's mouth quirked before raising his brows in enquiry. "You ready to do this?"

"Let's go."

The both of them moved to cover each other smoothly, keeping their eyes peeled for suspicious movement as they took turns leapfrogging from sparse cover to cover across the square. It was almost exhilarating to feel the familiar sense of adrenaline again. Shepard could never stop marvelling at how seemingly irreconcilable differences simply faded away under combat conditions. Regardless of how things would turn out later, he knew he could trust Jacob to watch his back now.

A glance at his own omni-tool said it was slightly past midnight local time. Speakers had begun blaring announcements, advising locals to stay indoors or leave the area. There was no knowing what the residents made of it, but as they moved deeper and deeper into the tower outskirts, the places became more and more deserted until it seemed as if they were the only ones moving about a suddenly abandoned city.

Painstakingly, they inched forward, navigating through the commercial district with its characteristic collection of modest-sized shopping complexes and quaint shop houses, but gradually, the urban landscape changed. The shoreline came into view, dark waters of the Southern Ocean glittering where harbour lights from the marina casted dim illumination.

Lighting was nonexistent right at the edge of solid ground, where gangplanks and raised walkways took over, paving entrances to fifty-meter length luxury yachts. Their wooden masts and rigging made for a bewildering black forest above ghostly white hulls, further contributing to the darkness of the place. It was prime ground for an ambush.

"We're gonna need more bodies to cover this place." Jacob muttered as he took in the surroundings.

"Good call." Shepard agreed and toggled his comm link to bring in reinforcements.

All this time, radio chatter continued but all that was reported were negative sightings. They began fine-combing the marina, even sending aquatic troops to search the undersides of the harbour but found nothing of interest.

Thirty minutes of fruitless searching ended up with Jacob and Shepard, along with twenty Eldfell guards, gathering in frustration outside a small park nearby. As a precaution, Shepard ordered for a guard perimeter to be set up around the area. As he issued directions for the last group, Jacob came up, a troubled expression on his face.

"Got ourselves a lead and a problem, I think. Just called for a status report. Most of my men have nothing new, but a four-man group searching the subway station at the south end of the parking lot hasn't gotten back. I've tried hailing everyone of 'em for the last minute—no response."

"Got a lock on their location transmitters?"

Jacob fired up his omni-tool and called up the function. The holographic projection flared into life, displaying a 3d wire-mesh map of the area. Four red dots, grouped closely together could be seen within the station complex. All the blips were unmoving, and a check of the log revealed it'd been that way for the past two minutes.

Both men exchanged a grim look.

"I'm countermanding my order. You men, follow me!" Shepard barked at the remaining four guards.

As they double-timed the three hundred meters from the marina to the station, commands flew, thick and fast, from both himself and Jacob. For double-measure, Shepard called and ordered Khalif to stop all trains entering and leaving the station. Patrols were re-directed to make their way there to secure the various exits and lend speed to the search. But the search circle had widened to the point where it would take most of them a while to reach there.

What was more ominous were the twinges Shepard began to feel as they ran the distance, a sensation unfortunately made familiar once he knew the symptoms to look out for—a slow stiffening of the major muscles that gradually transformed into a bone-deep ache. The last week's trial with the muscle relaxants identified prolonged exertion as the biggest source of the problem. The only solution available to him right now was to stick strictly to the prescription regime. Consulting the omni-tool told him the next application wasn't until two hours later, and it was with frustration that Shepard wondered if he could risk an early dosage.

He didn't have a choice, he realised. Not unless he wanted a repeat of his last encounter with Kai Leng. He cursed silently as he fumbled for the pill tab in his utility pouch. Finally, he popped the capsule into his mouth and dry-swallowed it. None of this was picked up by anyone, and Shepard could only be thankful for that—gaining Jacob's trust hadn't been easy and the last thing he needed was to add a new complication to that balance.

The main entrance of the train station soon came into view. Cautiously, they made their way in with Jacob taking the lead, consulting his omni-tool every now and then.

"Damn it, this place is a maze," was the other man's complaint and silently, Shepard had to agree. He'd assigned two men to guard the entrance they'd come from but there were at least two more exits according to the map. Those would have to wait until reinforcement arrived, Shepard decided as they finally rounded the corner where Jacob's men would be.

He breathed noisily in dismay as he took in the sight of the four bodies strewn around the pillars of the waiting platform. Most of the men had died within earshot of each other, even if they didn't have line of sight. The whole thing bore the hallmarks of a well-staged ambush—the work of an accomplished operative who managed to dispose of four men, none of them the wiser.

"It's definitely Kai Leng all right..." Jacob hissed as he knelt down beside the body of one of his former men. Surreptitiously, Shepard leaned against one of the pillars to take some weight off his muscles as he studied the station schematic in detail. The announcement that train services for the station had been discontinued echoed continuously through the cavernous space. The place was indubitably big, with six lines branching off to various destinations across the island and it frustrated him to no end that they were back to playing cat-and-mouse with one of the best operatives in the galaxy.

"His suit's system logged him as being the last to die." Jacob observed from his vantage, his tone almost dispassionate again. Frowning, Shepard knelt down to join him. The man's neck had been snapped cleanly. Far more interested was the fact that he'd been standing by a door that lead into a service tunnel. An inspection of the lock revealed that it had been hacked open a few minutes ago.

At first glance, it would seem too good to be true that Kai Leng would've gone that way. The temptation to wait for reinforcements to arrive before testing that theory out almost made sense. Except Shepard knew Kai Leng would only leave evidence like that behind if he was guaranteed a head start.

"Mr. Khalif, I'm about to track our perp through a service tunnel." He said peremptorily into his comm-link. "According to the map, the next station on the line is the destination. I know your men don't have jurisdiction in that area, but I'm trusting you can dispatch a squad discreetly to meet us at the other end."

"_I could send a team in via shuttle, yes. Consider it done, Admiral."_

"The two of you—stay here and send a squad through once more men arrive." Shepard instructed the remaining pair of Eldfell guards before he took a deep breath and turned to Jacob, "I'll bet my life that's the way Kai Leng went. I'm going after him, Jacob. The trail will be stone-cold by the time our numbers get reinforced."

Saying that, he darted through the door and into the darkened tunnel beyond, knowing full well if Jacob didn't want him out of sight, he'd have to follow.

"Damn it, Shepard!" Jacob's frustrated shout echoed in the space, but true enough, there came the sound of footsteps behind him immediately after. The passage soon became so dark that Shepard had to fire up his night vision function. The space was too narrow to accommodate the both of them abreast, and consciously, he slowed down his pace. It was that or gift-wrapping himself as a target should Kai Leng be waiting ahead, looking to stage another ambush.

After fifteen minutes of wending through the darkness, the tunnel abruptly opened up into an intersection, causing him to curse. Two metal doors were embedded into each opposite wall while the main route continued on into darkness. The door design dated from the last century and the passages were secured with physical locks. Shepard walked over to rattle one of them experimentally. The surface was so encrusted with grime it would've been impossible to open the lock even with the right key.

"This lock is new." Jacob reported from his side. "Any idea where this door leads to?"

Shepard fired up his omni-tool to consult the map.

"It's not on the map," he muttered in disgust. "Looks like these two tunnels are pretty old, sealed up and abandoned ages ago."

He swung his torch further down the main passageway. The tunnel hadn't seen any use lately, and dust-indented footprints littered the floor. But the newest and topmost footprints he could see came in the direction they were heading.

"Bet you one million credits Kai Leng scouted this place before he made his move tonight," Jacob said darkly.

"And I'll up that to five million and say he went through that door." Shepard gestured at the one with the newly installed lock. "Got a cutter with you?"

As Jacob made short work of the metal lock with a miniaturised vibro-saw, Shepard slapped on a glow patch beside the door, marking the route for reinforcements that came behind.

The door opened without a single creak, evidence that someone had oiled it recently. If anything else, the new passage was darker than the tunnel they'd traversed and mildew could be seen covering and discolouring the walls under torchlight. The sound of running water echoed faintly, the acoustics of the place making it difficult to locate the direction of the source, but it was obvious this part of the tunnel was far older than the rest of the railway and long disused by the looks of it.

The condition of the walls continued to deteriorate until their feet began to kick up stone dust every other step. Fresh footprints going their direction confirmed that they were on the right track. Soon after, the passage opened up into a roughly-hewn chamber with a ceiling so high that it was lost in darkness. Metal pilings filled the space haphazardly with oft-broken ladders running their length. In the dimness, scaffolding and stairs could be seen above.

The marina wasn't prime ambush ground, _this_ was. The odds were stacked against them— uncharted ground, two of them against an accomplished assassin who'd planned this—it took all of Shepard's will to remember that their primary task was to track Kai Leng. Any attempt to apprehend him had to wait under such conditions. He threw up a cautionary hand, discouraging Jacob from going further.

The trickle of stone dust from above was their only warning. Both of them fire their weapons simultaneously, the illumination of their projectiles lighting up Kai Leng's face with an unearthly glow. He was standing on some corroded pipes up on the ceiling. As fast as they'd move, he was faster, ducking behind a steel strut. Jacob continued emptying his clip, taking pot shots at Kai Leng's position as he gave Shepard a quick nod.

Returning the gesture, Shepard quickly holstered his shotgun and made a beeline for the nearest ladder. Firing up his biotics, he lowered his mass until he could lightly climb the precarious structure before swinging himself up onto a badly-corroded stairwell with giant gaps. Silently, he cursed as his muscles started aching.

There was nothing to it. He gritted his teeth and tried to ignore it. Despite his reduced weight, he still had to retrace his steps several times when portions of the scaffolding simply crumbled at the slightest touch. Kai Leng, on the other hand, wouldn't have such a problem if he'd scouted this area previously. The sound of Jacob's weapon going off continued below, and Shepard had to trust that his erstwhile friend still had Kai Leng in the sights.

Finally, Shepard reached the lattice of pipes and began a balancing act in the attempt to head towards the sound of gunfire. Something cold and wet splashed on his cheek. Looking up revealed a massive crack on the ceiling and strings of water droplets forming around the fault. _That_ was certainly a complication they didn't need. There was no way to tell when or if a cave in might be a problem. The more immediate problem was how the water made footing even more precarious.

It wasn't even a misstep—simply a slight change in the centre of his balance, and Shepard lost his footing. He flung his arms wide to grip the body of the pipe, and literally felt the surface crumble beneath him, the smell of coppery rust thick in the air.

Quickly, he swung his free hanging legs hard and heaved his lower torso onto another section, hoping to distribute his weight more evenly. The gambit worked, or at the very least, the pipe stopped showing signs of breaking up. With difficulty, he inched past the water-weakened section, his muscles aching harder and harder all the while.

Jacob's gunshots had stopped in the interim. In the ominous silence, Shepard could only move forward in a general direction. Finally, he caught a glimpse of Jacob far below, head darting in all directions as he tried to locate their target. It was Shepard who saw Kai Leng first, hiding behind a cluster of pilings. It was the perfect spot, the outline of his body on the infrared channel almost entirely cloaked. Ironically, it was the faint glint of his rifle that gave him away, the muzzle of which was pointing directly at Jacob.

Without a second thought, Shepard executed a dead run that ended with a biotic charge. For a second, shots went wild—there was no way to know who fired—all of his vision was filled with Kai Leng as he impacted his target hard.

Then came the sickening sensation of falling followed by a bone-jarring landing with himself at the bottom. Pain ricocheted through his muscles and rattled his bones. And for a while, all Shepard could see before him was static. New gunshots almost deafened him, and he could only curl up instinctively and hope for the best.

When he could see again, he was greeted by Jacob's concerned face hovering over him. It was the most visceral combat flashback he'd ever experienced—wild panic gripped Shepard as he scrambled to find traction on the ground in order to push himself up. Pain leapt like fire through his body and he had to force himself to calm down and lie back down. His muscles hadn't entirely locked up yet, but any more exertion, and they would.

"Where's Kai Leng?" His breath came in tremulous gasps as his eyes darted around.

"Ran off that direction. There's another tunnel over there. I think I may have gotten a shot in, I don't know," Jacob inclined his head, reporting grimly before turning back to study him. "You okay? You look like you just seen a ghost."

If Shepard had to admit to himself, this was the complication that he'd feared the most. But with the aid of the relaxant, he might just be able to function again given a few minutes of rest. The kicker was the real danger of Kai Leng giving them the slip altogether. And the only way to pre-empt that was to convince Jacob to go on without him.

"I did see a ghost—my ghost." Shepard said as he rubbed his face shakily, uncaring of the stone dust on his palms. "I told you that Kai Leng managed to ambush me once-he didn't stop there. I flatlined. Miranda had to resuscitate me."

He lifted a hand to brush over the patched-up holes in his armour.

"I found out recently there's a serious problem with my muscles. They lock up with exertion. That was how Kai Leng managed to nail me. I'm on medication for it—but I'll need a few minutes to get back on my feet."

Jacob began shaking his head vehemently.

"Oh no, no, no... For fuck's sake, Shepard, I can't believe you're trying to pull that one on me."

"Why on earth would I want to stall us now that we've finally caught up with Kai Leng?" Shepard demanded desperately. "Jacob, I know the last thing I ought to do is push your trust. But I trusted you when you said you're here to watch my back, so now I'm asking for the same favour."

Jacob bared his teeth in a frustrated rictus.

"God damn it, Shepard! You're not making this easy!"

Shepard tried once more to rise only to feel the familiar pain flare up, albeit slightly abated. Again, he forced himself to relax, counting his breaths for a mental exercise.

You can try and haul my useless ass along and lose Kai Leng's trail entirely." he said tiredly, "Or you can go ahead and _trust _that I will follow you when I can."

His body language or expression must have finally clicked home for Jacob because the other man finally stood up.

Gripping his weapon, Jacob muttered agonisingly, "I'd _better_ find you coming after me, or else—"

He ended his sentence with a growl of frustration before running off in the direction of the new tunnel.

Silently, Shepard wished him all the luck. Jacob's footsteps soon faded away, leaving him in complete darkness except where his visor light shone on. The distant groaning of stressed metal, the constant shower of stone dust from overhead and the faint trickling of water was oppressive. He had to admit he was deeply shaken—to the point where it would be easy to slip off into another flashback and imagine himself back at the Reaper base all over again.

He couldn't help his deep shudder at the thought and with valiant effort, forced himself to stop. Mental exercises were good and methodically, he kept up his timed breathing, slowly trying to ease the tension from his body. This was fear at its most primal, a sensation he hadn't felt for ages. The combination of the time spent last week, what had happened so far tonight, complications and all—drove home more than anything else how much he had to lose. There would be no consolation prize in this particular debacle.

After five agonising minutes, when he'd gotten himself sufficiently calmed down, Shepard lifted tentative arms to raise himself to a sitting position. The pain had subsided to twinges again, thankfully. He spent another precious minute warming up stiffened limbs before taking a deep breath, and began jogging down the direction that Kai Leng and Jacob went.

Sporadic radio chatter told him that Jacob's men had entered the first train station and were somewhere behind them. The Eldfell squad that Khalif sent had begun their infiltration of the next station on the line. Not that it was any help right now, although a check of his GPS told Shepard he was still going in the direction of the next station.

Apart from that, he still had no idea how far or deep these old tunnels went, the maps he had were necessarily less accurate the further he moved away from the tower. To make matters worse, no one continued to have seen Kai Leng except for himself and Jacob.

The route grew more and more bewildering, with multiple intersections along the way. At every junction, an Alliance glow patch slapped on the wall of the new corridor marked the route that Jacob had taken. At the first two intersections, Shepard took the pain to examine the area, to double-confirm that the other man's choice was the correct one, but he gave up soon after.

It'd been ten minutes since Jacob had left him to stay on Kai Leng's trail. Repeating hailing of the other man's comm channel had raised no responses. As he increased his speed as much as he could, a new fear began to intrude on Shepard's consciousness. What if Jacob tried or was forced to face Kai Leng off alone? Separately, neither of them were a match for the ex-commando. There wasn't even any guarantee that both of them would be able to take him down together. And as far as Shepard knew, he was the next and only person most likely to find the duo.

There was, however, one bright spot. The nature of the tunnels began to change again as he wended his way along, the route he was on reappearing in the map. The direction had been correct; he was on track to hit the next train station. That was amply confirmed when Shepard almost stumbled into a rail tunnel, the rush of cold air clear indication that a train was incoming. Quickly, he squeezed himself into a niche, and gritted his teeth as he waited for all the carriages to rush past.

They were effectively beyond the Eldfell compound as evidenced by trains still in service. The patch that Jacob had slapped on the wall instructed him to run down said tracks towards the next station. He jogged along the narrow space beside the tracks once the train passed, gradually twigging to the fact that his destination had to be nearby when the last carriage remained visible after a while.

The locomotive remained unmoving when Shepard finally reached the station proper. Any more patches Jacob might have put up would be obscured by the carriages. After pausing to give his body rest, he decided to chance one of two flights of stairs leading to platforms located on both sides of the track.

This station was much smaller, although the platform was equally deserted. Shepard's eyes took in all the details as the announcement of the train's departure sounded. Instinctively, his attention was arrested by the motion of the closing doors, and that was when he saw it.

Jacob's comatose form lying sprawled on the ground could be seen through the windows on the other platform. Kai Leng stood directly above him. Slowly, the train began to pull away from the station, presenting the entire tableau in stuttering motion through the frames of windows speeding past. As if spectator of a silent movie, Shepard watched in horror as Kai Leng picked Jacob's weapon up from the floor, hoisted him by the collar, before placing the nozzle against the back of his head and squeezing the trigger.

-~o~-

The main form of contraceptives in the twenty-second century took the shape of hormonal implants. They usually lasted several years and were easy to use to the point there was a tendency to forget about their existence when they were most necessary. During the war, Miranda had let hers lapse. With the diagnosis of her infertility and then the fact that there was simply no time for personal dalliances, she hadn't bothered with one for years.

It was surreal now, sitting in the quiet confines of the database room, calculating which phase her reproductive cycle fell into. Being confronted with something as basic and primal as an unwanted pregnancy was entirely laughable in this age. Firmly, she forced herself to inhale deeply and calm down. She had no means to run tests on herself, and knowing the truth now wasn't going to help with the immediate situation.

So far, the experience of reading these files had involved taking hit after hit, without any chance for relief before the next one landed. The evolution of her feelings towards her father had come a long way over the course of three decades. Bewilderment turned childish resentment as a minor had transformed into disgust and self-righteous anger at what she considered his megalomaniacal tendencies in her adulthood. In recent years, that had changed further until she'd thought herself beyond his influence, but as Miranda was beginning to realise, it was simply short-term relief brought about by the onset of the Reaper war and alleviated by the value of her war-time contributions.

As long as that overwhelming question that coloured every thought she had on the matter—the question of "why?"—remained unanswered, she knew she would never be free of him. It was the same sense of bewilderment from her childhood, unchanged and unadulterated. And it shamed her to admit that the deepest of her insecurities had its roots so far back in her past, back to the time when earning a smile cast in her direction, a word of praise from the man she had obeyed and trusted without a second thought had meant the whole world to her.

Except now she'd finally acquired the key to explain every act and every decision he'd made, only to learn that her darkest fears had been true—that in her father's eyes, she was no more than a test subject with a number designation, that the gruelling tests he'd put her through was to showcase her genetic potential, the only thing he considered as valuable about her. Notions of kinship had no place in this, not when nothing was considered too sacrosanct to be modified, replaced and discarded as long as the gene complex propagated.

And riding hard behind that thought was another misgiving that clutched at Miranda's heart. She couldn't help but wonder if there were other aspects of her behaviour, more subtle parts related to biological reproduction, like her tendency to go for particular types of men that could've been programmed into her. Precise personality traits were considered the hardest things to achieve even with the current level of sophistication in gene manipulation. But again and again, her father had proven that he could circumvent what was generally deemed impossible.

There was no way to deny the insidious entrance of that suspicion—that perhaps she'd been programmed to fall for exactly the kind of man that Shepard was, a man of the rare calibre to affect entire planets, even the galaxy, with his actions. It was like a virus, an aggressive invader once taken hold, was near-impossible to eradicate. She gave a desperate puff of laughter as inevitably, that fateful talk with Shepard the night they'd patched up came to mind—when they'd shared their experiences of falling into a depression so absolute that every judgement was steeped in doubt.

At least _that_ particular scenario wasn't complicated by the existential possibility that the mechanisms of her own consciousness wasn't even her own to begin with. And juxtaposed painfully against that sense of helplessness was the fact that it'd taken her and Shepard this long to arrive at where they were. Only to find themselves facing this...

The possibility of behavioural programming was so anathema that Miranda felt physically sick even thinking about it. All these years spent convincing herself that she was more than just the product of her father's selfish dreams to learn that he might have irrevocably poisoned all those efforts. That no matter what she'd done or intended to do, her past, present and future would always be locked into the cycle he dictated. She couldn't even imagine what to think or how to respond when she meet up with Shepard again. And if against all odds she were to find herself pregnant. Oh god...

Eyes unseeing, she seized the first thing she reached for and threw it with all her might. The box of optical disks shattered loudly as it impacted the wall, the reflective material of the discs rebounding against surfaces to break into smaller pieces until a pile of shards was all that was left.

"Why? God damn you, father, _why!"_

The deafening silence in the room following her outburst only seemed to mock her lack of answers. Inexpressibly tired, Miranda collapsed back onto the chair, elbows on the table, her face buried in between. Long minutes passed by as the cool surface of the table gradually sapped the heat from her cheeks. From a state of numbed retreat, her mind slowly came online again in grudging fits and starts.

If her father did introduce certain refined behavioural tendencies into her genetic makeup, there ought to be a file on it, she extrapolated slowly. All the damning evidence so far had come with irrefutable documentation; there was no reason to think that this one might be different.

Slowly, she lifted her head to stare at the screen. There was a page's worth of listings left. Her hand moved to take control of the screen cursor and then froze. What if there _was_ a file, she thought dazedly. What would happen then?

She bit her lip so hard that she almost drew blood. Never had the urge to run away from knowledge been so strong. It was a heroic struggle, one that shook Miranda deeply with its unfamiliarity. She'd always hated uncertainty, had always needed to know everything. And for the first time in her life, it took every ounce of strength to hit that _NEXT_ button.

Her finger jerked almost spasmodically and the list scrolled down as though it had a life of its own. A lifelong habit of reading what was before her kicked in, although her mind, playing catch-up, compelled rereads at many points. There was no knowing what to expect; the only certainty was her dread of the worst. It seemed to take forever to reach the end of the page, and there her eyes stayed. As the seconds ticked by, it finally struck her that none of the titles had anything remotely to do with behavioural modifications. Just to make sure, she made herself scan through the list again.

The part of her that'd been reacting through this whole series of events as though it was a bad dream felt a sudden flare of relief. But as a scientist, she knew very well the impossibility of proving beyond a doubt the absence of something. That was one of the biggest conundrums in research methodology. No, it was premature to feel relieved. She had to be absolutely sure and the only way to do that was to study files that looked like they could contain references to any kind of behavioural modifications. With a deep breath, she opened the first, titled _"Projected Efficiency of mtDNA Modifications in Subjects carrying the N Gene-complex". _

"…_.predicted an unacceptable number of rejects due to the complexity of the modifications done to the mtDNA of the ova donor. The original modifications were made to increase potential energy output of cells. Subsequent testing has revealed that the additional stress has resulted in premature cellular aging, a correction which would require further refinement of the repair mechanisms."_

Miranda shook her head with a tired sigh. Why wasn't that surprising? It should've occurred to her father that changing one process would lead to another needing to be modified. Her academic curiosity piqued, she continued reading, wondering how he'd managed to resolve this particular issue.

"_See attached my original predictions if the first successful prototype is used as an ova donor for subsequent clone generations. We had initially hesitated to recommend this course of action since the necessary harvesting of ova would need to be delayed until the prototype has reached puberty. However, Mr. Eldfell has ordered a hiatus on further development which has now made this option viable._

_A total of two thousand healthy oocytes has since been harvested from subject DM3F-2150.9723!BT4-Miranda over the course of two years after reproductive functionality has been ascertained. These can be brought to maturation as needed. Given that the assessment of the subject's re-modified template put her in the top 1% of the predicted range over all improved functions including biotics, a mutation in the non-coding mtDNA near complex IV has been judged inconsequential…"_

"…_no further modifications can be made at this time without the subject expressing non-human characteristics. By order of Mr. Eldfell the next generation of clones will be created using subject "Miranda"'s ova. Research into further enhancements will continue."_

The tentative kick-start her mental faculties experienced before she arrived at this point stalled and completely shut down. Her mind simply refused to combine the separate pieces of information into a whole. What little emotional coherency that she had painstakingly assembled over the course of the night's reading shredded and dissipated into thin air. Something like this shouldn't matter so much, but it did. And bit by bit as the conclusion sank in, she finally realised the devastating and irrevocable power of knowledge. With this, her relationship with Oriana, Cordelia and all who came after them would never be the same again...

-~o~-

"And now you know why I say that it's all too late," Cordelia's voice echoed as though coming from the depths of a tomb. "She's in every one of us, meshed so tightly that the only way I can be rid of her is to kill myself." A helpless laugh resounded here. "Maybe that's what I'll do when all this is over."

The rest of what was said was lost to Oriana.

It'd always been Miranda's conceit to address her as an identical twin, a younger sister. The barefaced truth was they were _all_ clones of her. As far as the term 'unique' could be applied in relation to their genetic origins, Miranda _was_ the original.

Aiken Eldfell's role in their conception could never be discounted. But towards the tail end of the project, he was down to shuffling pieces, and in many instances, altering and forcing often-conflicting traits into tandem through retroactive engineering until, akin to a miracle, a flawless transmutation that went far beyond the sum of all the parts took place. It was similar to how an artistic masterpiece had the ability to transcend its status as a creation, to be divorced from its author to exist independently in space and time.

Miranda was the canvas upon which that brutal and highly experimental exercise took place. And in the process, she was the one who gave all that came after her the substance of their being. If Eldfell was their creator, then Miranda would stand beside him as their progenitor, the twin icons of father and mother that formed the roots of the human psyche.

"Get up," Cordelia jostled her back to the land of the living with a grip on her arm. For the first time, Oriana finally understood and tasted for herself the reason for Cordelia's particular brand of nihilism.

"No more. This ends one way or another." Her youngest—no, her _only_ sister continued roughly. "We're going to the tower now."


	22. Chapter 7 Part 1

**A/N:** Apologies for the long silence. Many things happened in real life, including a change of job and getting a new place of my own. For the record, I have no abandoned this story. In fact, Mass Effect 3's 'too little, too late' spiel has been downright frustrating and I'm more determined than ever to complete my version of the reaper war and what happens after. Thanks for sticking with me, guys!

* * *

**Chapter 7**

It was as though time had ceased to exist within the room. Reading each file had compelling the opening of new ones until the entire screen was overflowing with overlaying meshes of text and diagrams.

Blurred eyes and a clogged throat finally forced Miranda to lean tiredly against the backrest. She swallowed almost reflexively, half-wishing that the information now ingrained in her mind could be shoved away with the same ease.

A half-hearted swipe of her palm turned the screen dark, hiding the damning material out of sight. Reading every file in the database would take days, and she was sick to death of unpleasant surprises. Would things have gone on differently if she'd never taken the first step and ran away, she wondered dazedly.

It'd been one of her regular jaunts, figuring out how far she could slip pass her father's security web. Overhearing that fateful conversation between him and a Cerberus scientist over how he'd orchestrated her rape attempt to galvanise the development of her biotic abilities had been the last straw. In an act of vengeance, she'd killed his scientists before stumbling into the nursery where she'd laid eyes on Oriana.

It was the first time she'd seen a baby this close up. She'd already known then that Oriana was supposed to be her replacement, but strangely, resentment was absent. Staring at those tiny hands and feet, that scrunched-up face with blue eyes the shade of hers, she was awestruck that through the miracle of life, this tiny thing was as complete as it would ever be, and would eventually grow up to look exactly like herself. The real kicker was the fact that this infant would probably live her own childhood, subjected to the same treatment she'd undergone.

Running away with Oriana had constituted the biggest decision of Miranda's life back then. But it was nothing compared to the realisation that she had to give Oriana up for adoption. It was impossible not to wonder what kind of a person Oriana would grow up to become. For several agonising days, she'd ruthlessly squashed pipe dreams of keeping Oriana by her side. She was in no position to raise a child, nor was she equipped with the skills or knowledge to keep both of them safe from their father.

There seemed to be no point to compromises once that was established. Any attempt to maintain a link would only endanger the both of them, not to mention compromise her apprenticeship to become a covert agent. It was unthinkable to go that far only to fail.

Still...

In the end, the link wasn't entirely severed, not quite. To make sure Oriana was entirely safeguarded, she'd opted to maintain a distant observation. She'd always been careful, sticking to chance encounters during Oriana's childhood when their physical similarities weren't striking yet, and forcing herself to stay away as Oriana grew up. That had been one of the most painful and drawn-out decisions she'd had to make. One only recanted when it became increasingly clear that she might not survive the collector base mission.

Shakily, Miranda ran a hand through her hair. Was it prescience that'd led her to never be satisfied with just watching from a distance; for her mind to say that leaving Oriana alone was the right thing, but to fight tooth and nail for that emotional connection? A connection that, as it turned out, transcended the bonds of siblinghood.

That was absurd. She shook her head, trying to clear her mind of such a foolish notion. None of them could've known. It was stupid to explain her behaviour all these years as any sort of subconscious yearning, biological or otherwise.

If anything else, it ought to have served as an early sign that letting go wasn't something that came easy to her. She couldn't help but dread meeting Oriana again. Playing the role of a sister was something that'd taken years of painstaking trial and error. They couldn't afford such damning knowledge now. How was it possible that in the span of a few hours, a dead man she was ready to declare herself free of could do so much damage to the two close ties she had in this world?

But that anger found no traction to build up momentum, no target to strike at. How would one even begin a fight with the dead?

Tiredly, Miranda laid her head down on the cold table surface again. No, the immediate problems involved the living. Did Oriana know about this? Could she bring herself to reveal the truth? Or was that decision already taken out of her hands?

A beep from her omni-tool intruded. Dazedly, she saw that it was Cordelia on the line. How long has it been since their last conversation? It felt like a lifetime ago, except a glance told her only an hour had passed. Closing her eyes, Miranda opened them again before keying the voice-only channel.

"Well?" Cordelia's voice drawled.

Her mind stuttered to an absolute blank. Anything that she could say seemed to stop far short of adequate. Taking a deep breath, she scrambled to collect her scattered thoughts.

"I think I've read enough. Enough to give us a basis to talk." She took another deep breath. "But I have some questions—how could you have known what was in these files?"

Silence stretched to the point where Miranda half-expected the line to be cut off unceremoniously again. There was no escaping the pleading nature of her question, but she was too tired to muster any degree of indignation right now.

"I'd always known about the genetic biotics angle. Cerberus had a bad habit of not cleaning up after themselves. But that can't be news to you."

The reply was strangely devoid of any sentiment. It was a big improvement, but the normalcy was also unsettling coming from someone she knew hated her beyond reason. Biting her lip, Miranda punched the button for visual contact. The holographic interface fired up, revealing Cordelia who appraised her with half lidded eyes that gave away nothing of her intentions. After a moment's hesitation, Miranda decided to take the plunge.

"What about the part on using my ova to create those born after me?"

_That_ had an effect. It was almost indiscernible, the slight twitch of jaw muscles before Cordelia's lips stretched into her trademarked false smile.

"Quite the can of worms, isn't it? I was wondering if I ought to address you as 'dear mother'." She laughed at the involuntary cringe that flitted across Miranda's face. "It's serendipity, really. I was curious how the security system recognises you and no one else. So I engaged the services of a bio-lab to specifically look for differences in our genetic make-ups." An insouciant shrug here. "Considering our non-existent relationship, who we are to each other is ultimately an academic exercise. Not so for Ori."

It was a source of underlying frustration that Miranda still knew next to nothing about Cordelia. That gaping blank was something that'd made her reluctant to judge or take a stance that would actively set them against each other. She still had no idea what to make of the complicated kinship they shared, or if Cordelia even laid any store behind it. But there was _one_ relationship in this entire mess she absolutely had to salvage.

With an effort, she tried to keep accusation from her voice.

"Just what have you told Ori?"

Cordelia cocked her head, that dazzling smile never once leaving her face.

"Everything. She has the right to know. Except everything here simply means the tip of the iceberg. As I'm sure you're beginning to find out."

All this was delivered without a trace of rancour. If anything else, Cordelia's attitude was one of curiosity, as though she was waiting to see which way the pieces fell. And it was with difficulty that Miranda schooled her face into neutrality.

"Put her on the line please."

Her mirror image made a show of conferring off-screen before turning back.

"She doesn't want to talk to you right now. Not till she reads those files herself, she says. And _we_ definitely need to talk," came the dry rejoinder. "For that, you'll just have to accept that I'll be using Ori as my guarantor for...good behaviour on your part, among other things."

It was too reasonable coming from someone she suspected had a very tenuous grasp of the concept of reason. And the idea that Oriana shared similar sentiments was a thought that chilled Miranda.

"Cordelia, I assure you you'll be able to enter the tower unmolested. There's no need to involve Ori in this."

Cordelia's eyes narrowed in irritation.

"You're not even listening, are you? _She_ wants to be involved. In fact, she wants to know as much as I do what happens next. She says she's tired of second-hand accounts. Can you blame her?"

Oriana wasn't the only one she had to worry about, Miranda realised belatedly. Cordelia was every bit as intelligent as the both of them. And she was an absolute wildcard, not above playing them against one another to achieve her objectives. Suddenly, she dreaded to think what kind of agreement they would've reached without her knowledge.

"I'll send a shuttle over," she said heavily after a while.

"There's no need," came the clipped assertion. "We'll be there in an hour or so. I'm sure you wouldn't want our reunion or the potential fallout to become public knowledge, so I'll be expecting a private reception at the landing pad." Cordelia's gaze grew intent. "Don't surprise me."

It wasn't unexpected that Cordelia would abruptly terminate the connection once again, but this time, Miranda slammed a fist against the table with a curse. Taking a deep breath, she stood up. Frustration was definitely not going to serve her now, and with difficulty, she forced herself to pace the room, arms crossed tightly, until she finally walked off the excess energy.

She was beginning to suspect that regardless of what Oriana thought or wanted, Cordelia was likely the one calling the shots. Lack of information was definitely what brought about this stalemate and even now, she still had no idea what drove Cordelia to hate her so much. Cordelia, on the other hand, was entirely aware of the advantage she had and was adroitly using it to maintain an upper hand.

The question was how far she was willing to let their youngest push that limit. Under normal circumstances, she would be triaging the situation to achieve the best possible outcome. Getting Oriana to safety remained the priority, but for the first time, Miranda found herself unable to stomach the idea of writing Cordelia off as collateral damage.

Trying to rationalise the reason behind that aversion simply sent her thoughts skidding away like oil on water. Similar to the way they refuse to coalesce when she tried to imagine what she would say to Oriana. The whole trip up here, reading the files was supposed to fill the gaps in her knowledge. But the effect had been the exact opposite.

Pausing mid-step, Miranda clasped her head between both hands, her fingers pressed hard against her temples to ward off the incipient headache taking root there. No, the stalemate couldn't hold. Something _had_ to give.

Getting through to Cordelia was the key. Her chest heaved in bitter laughter that was quickly stolen away by the pervasive hum of the databanks. One way or another, she had to find a way to breach that barrier. Even if it meant—she finally admitted to herself—that she would have to acknowledge motherhood over all of them.

* * *

_**2185 CE, Omega, **__**Sahrabarik System**_

Cooling his heels in a smelly back alley of a dingy space station was definitely not how Shepard envisioned his day to end, far less being scrutinised by multiple pairs of eyes belonging to Afterlife's batarian bouncers.

Sitting on the floor now, back against a metal wall, he swung a bottle of krogan liquor haphazardly about and feigned an inebriated grin as he offered it to one of the batarians who eyed him with undisguised wariness. The other bouncer pursed his lips at the spectacle and then took a peremptory step forward as though he'd like to snatch the bottle away.

Shepard dropped his grin immediately, his eyes narrowing as he tracked the motion beneath lowered brows. The bouncer froze at the burning intensity of his gaze and aborted the approach in a fluster. Gesturing at his partner, the both of them retreated several steps. Rewarding them with another sunny smile, Shepard took a swig of the bottle.

The concoction tasted vile, but it was his rightfully earned trophy—a drinking dare from a turian whom he'd then proceeded to beat the daylights out of—all under the pretence of being dead drunk. The fallout of that debacle was still ongoing, with faint sounds of things being moved filtering through the loud music beyond the door. A minute later, the door opened and two turians emerged, labouring under a stretcher laden with the bulk of a very dead krogan.

He turned away at the sight, his mood taking a sudden dive. He was off duty today, damn it. For the first time in a long time, there were no calculating eyes shadowing every move he made, no reminders of his obligations to a terrorist organisation that without so much as a 'may we?' decided to take over custody of his life.

The hard-bitten crowd in there had made for a difficult audience, but at least their needs were simple. Once he'd topped a few of the more outrageous dares, they'd become downright receptive. Until the foot stomping and cheering was unceremoniously cut short by a group of regulars that took offense to his showmanship. So he'd beat them into the ground. One thing had led to another—he vaguely recalled shots fired— but the entire process had a life of its own, and he went with the flow until he found himself surrounded at gunpoint by Aria T'Loak's bodyguards. The de facto ruler of Omega had scowled at him from the vantage of her platform before ordering her men to escort him out.

Thinking back to that moment stung. Shepard quickly dismissed it and took another swig. It was potent stuff, guaranteed to sear off the stomach linings of most humans, except he'd emptied half the bottle so far with no effect. It wasn't his fault, not entirely. They were done on Omega anyway. He was entitled to squander away some of that bogus credential people seemed hell-bent on fostering on him.

Was it only three weeks and a day ago that he was on board the _SSV Normandy_, breathing the last moments of his life? One day after that, he'd woken up on Lazarus station to find a gigantic gap in his memory and a Shepard-size hole that'd been status quo for much of two years.

In that time, the galaxy had gone on without him, not the slightest bit hindered by the loss of his role as a ranting lunatic bent on spreading the news that the Reapers were coming. As recent as this morning, his attempt to contact former allies was once again stonewalled; friends he'd hoped would help him remained conveniently out of touch.

Abruptly, he swung the bottle by neck against a bulwark. The glass cracked sharply, splattering him with its eye-watering content. Tossing the bottle aside with a clatter, Shepard closed his eyes and leaned his head against the wall. No, the surrealism that was his life didn't require any sort of chemical assistance to achieve.

One week ago in real-time, he'd been walking past the med-bay, an unwilling dreamer, when he noticed the unusual gathering of people inside. Darting behind a pillar, he'd inched his way to the door and switched on the audio feed. The voice that filtered through was unmistakeable—the sharp cadences of Lawson, his Cerberus-appointed executive officer grilling Mordin over.

"—to my attention that Commander Shepard has been trying out a number of prototypical combat upgrades on himself. Is that true?"

"Yes. Applied ceramic-reinforced nano-skinweave to epidermal layer one week ago. Also, Shepard expressed interest in Sirta Foundation's bone sheath prototype. Still doubtful if can be applied to humans. Originally meant for turian physiology. Would probably need to—"

"Why wasn't I informed?"

Surreptitiously, Shepard had edged towards the edge of door where it met the plexiglass windows. Tilting his head slightly, he caught sight of Mordin's black pupils widening, wrinkling the skin on his forehead where a human's eyebrows would be.

"Miscommunication? Saw the forms. Shepard signed them. Didn't think additional verification was needed. Although found lack of medical history files inconvenient. Worked around it. Didn't—"

She'd cut the Salarian scientist off peremptorily.

"My point is the Commander doesn't have the authority to order those modifications!"

After a brief silence, the third person in the room, Dr. Chakwas cleared her throat mildly.

"Who does if not Shepard?"

Shepard couldn't help saluting the good doctor with a silent thumbs-up. What was even more satisfying was Lawson's nonplussed expression. But almost as quickly, she recovered her composure.

"The Commander had a lot of alterations made to his body when we brought him back. His wellbeing involves a delicate balance of the synthetic and organic parts. Anything that upsets that will affect his optimal performance at best, and in a worst case scenario, send him into cardiac arrest." She paused here before continuing on in that put-on patient tone, "That's why, Professor, I'd appreciate it if you'd inform me before applying any more upgrades on the Commander. That goes for you too, Doctor."

Shepard couldn't help his snort of disbelief. The only thing she cared about was safeguarding Cerberus's four-billion credit investment in him. Right from the start, Lawson had made it amply clear she didn't share the goodwill the rest of the crewmembers had towards him. Her attitude had alternated between low-level antagonism and cold studying looks, both expertly masked under the façade of professionalism.

It was refreshing in a way. Lawson's behaviour was exactly the kind of reception he'd expected from an organisation he'd took great pleasure in cracking down while hunting for Saren; the same way they'd had no qualms about throwing his squad to the thresher maws.

"Understood. Last prototype—simple skin graft. Easy to remove. Assuming instructions on product file are correct…" Mordin tweaked his undamaged cranial horn thoughtfully before his head perked up. "Have better suggestion! Give access to Shepard's reconstruction files. Can gauge inherent risks and complications. Needn't have this conversation in the first place."

Lawson shook her head with impatience.

"I can't do that, Professor. It's classified—"

That was it. Shepard slapped his hand on the entrance button and strode into the room. Every face swivelled towards him, but he was tired to death of getting pushed around. Time to push back.

"Don't mind Ms. Lawson, Mordin. She's just trying to be polite over your inability to see the label that reads "Property of Cerberus" stamped across my forehead." He crossed his arms and leaned casually on one leg even as he bit his words out through clenched jaw muscles. "The Alliance tends think of Cerberus as the schoolyard bully we don't talk about. Subtlety isn't one of their strong points. Not when beating something to death with a stick is the only way they know to get the job done."

An awkward silence filled the room. The target of his damning observation stared at him long and hard. Finally, she lifted her chin at him.

"If I may so politely remind you, Commander—without Cerberus, you wouldn't be standing here making disingenuous statements over our lack of subtlety."

Shepard gave Mordin and Chakwas a sardonic smile, "Make that a _big_ stick," before upending his hand at Lawson as though showing off an exhibit, "Case in point."

Despite his smothering animosity towards Lawson and the organisation she represented, he had to admit she was a very beautiful woman. If it was even possible, her alabaster complexion became paler as her cheeks flushed a faint pink. Chakwas busied herself with a datapad here, while Mordin looked at both of them with the unabashed interest of a spectator.

"Commander," Lawson's tone was wintry-cool. "Can I have a minute with you in my office?"

He returned her exquisite courtesy by slapping a hand on the control, holding the door open until they passed through. They walked the length of the mess hall, the picture of a captain consulting ship matters with his executive officer to the outward eye.

"I apologise for my slip of tongue," she said formally once she'd parked herself safely behind her desk and the door sealed them from prying ears and eyes. "It wasn't my intention to cast doubts on your leadership."

He'd half-expected a blow up and was faintly disappointed that it didn't materialise. In the course of these few weeks, Shepard had become inclined to believe that Lawson's professionalism wasn't a façade. There was no escaping that he had to work closely with her, and it was evident she'd never played the role of a ship's executive officer before. The few times he'd had the opportunity to point out things she'd overlooked, she'd corrected every single one of them.

In all appearances, this was a woman who expected no quarters. And in assuming that he'd overheard the entire conversation, she'd wisely decided not to play him for a fool. Not that it mattered, because he wasn't in the mood to give any quarters.

"Really? You people brought me back, gave me command of this cushy ship, foot all the bills so I can stop the Collectors. And the next thing I know, my second-in-command is going behind my back to tug at my leash. How about you come clean and tell me what Cerberus's agenda really is?"

Lawson laid both palms flat on her table before looking at him.

"Commander, this has got nothing to do with Cerberus's agenda," she said slowly and levelly. "You're pushing thirty percent cybernetic, an unfortunate side effect of needing you combat-ready. But your primary organs are still organic. They can't sustain the level of activity synthetic components are optimised for. All it takes is a moment of recklessness and your heart will burst."

It was his turn to study her long and hard. And as the seconds ticked by, he could feel anger fuelling the rise in his blood pressure. The shock of waking up to find two years had gone by had been gradually replaced by an unsettling sense of wrongness. Confronted with the possibility that she might remotely be concerned for his welfare… No, maybe it was ungrateful, but Shepard couldn't muster any gratitude towards anyone responsible for his resurrection. How unfortunate, indeed, that they had to bring him back at all.

"Thanks for the concern," he drawled false cordiality. "Can't say I'm exactly thrilled, what with all the mixed messages you've been sending off. It might've been better if you'd installed that control chip. Things would've been crystal clear then."

Again with that cool lift of her chin. But was that exasperation creeping into her voice?

"I'm sorry you feel that way about me. Wilson's betrayal was my fault; I failed to recognise the signs and we had to blow up an entire station to cover our tracks. So excuse me if I was a little terse back then."

With efficient movements, she pulled open her table drawer and lifted a datapad into plain view.

"But that doesn't detracts from what I have to say. I've been monitoring your combat performance for the past few weeks. Your response time consistently break your previous records, right down to the split-second incremental that has saved your life more than a few times now."

Shepard raised his eyebrow in mock surprise.

"Is that a problem?"

"Commander, if you have a death-wish, I'd appreciate knowing. I didn't spend two years bringing you back so you could kill yourself on pointless heroics." Her voice was sharp with remonstration.

It was satisfying to see the haunch that he was on the right track to prick that impenetrable bubble she'd surrounded herself with materialised. But now that her flinty blue eyes seemed to pierce through his insouciance, heat rose involuntarily to Shepard's cheeks.

"And we're back to Cerberus's billion-dollar investment in me." He crossed his arms in front of him. "While we're at it, how about replacing those organs with synthetics? Tell me when you have my size, and I'll block off a date on my social calendar. Then you can safely leave me to my pointless heroics."

Her lips thinned visibly with irritation.

"There is no point to this conversation if you're going to ignore my question."

"No more than you are." Shepard bit out. "Rebuilding me with cybernetics wasn't the unfortunate effect of needing me combat ready. You people wanted a killing machine. And now you've got one. So why the hell are you holding me back?"

Lawson stared long and hard at him as though she didn't believe her ears.

"My orders were to bring back the same person you were before; nothing more, nothing less. I've done that despite having to install synthetic components because we needed you operational fast. By operational, I meant Commander Shepard, the first human spectre, Saviour of the Citadel. Not some mindless killing machine. _You_ are entirely responsible for your current augmentations—augmentations built on top of systems that cannot support them!"

Shepard smiled a smile that never reached his eyes.

"I recall the Illusive Man gave you a new set of instructions after that – to obey my command. Since you lay so much store by orders, then act like a damn subordinate for a start. Stop interfering with how I do my job and give Mordin full access to my files."

He'd left soon after, not caring that Lawson's face was livid with anger. It was a childish victory, pointless defiance against all that was beyond his control. But what was done couldn't be undone.

There was no denying Project Lazarus had done a superb job bringing him back to life. He'd never been in better form, and going into combat augmented by improved reflexes and enhanced strength brought on a greater adrenaline rush he could ever imagine. Calling himself a killing machine? That wasn't so farfetched. But beyond that…

In building the _SR2_ and engaging ex-Alliance personnel like Chakwas, Joker, Ken and Gabby to man the ship, the Illusive Man had hoped to recreate the sense of normalcy and belonging lost with the original _Normandy_. What wasn't accounted for, however, was how that masquerade shredded at the most innocuous of moments. The dissonance was such that the carefully orchestrated artifice came crashing down like a ton of dead elcor, tearing everything else along with it. Today had been a parade of those moments with the coup de grace wrapping the evening in a disastrous package.

He was sick of this place, Shepard decided.

Dropping all pretence of inebriation, he rose to his feet in a smooth motion. From the corner of his eye, his batarian minders reacted with agitation. He turned to stare at them sullenly, daring them to stop him until the taller of the two lifted his hands in placation.

"Boss says wait. Someone from your ship is picking you up."

"Thanks for the concern. I know the way back."

Fresh commotion filtered through the club walls at this moment. A few seconds later, the lock flashed green and the backdoor opened and Lawson's svelte figure strode through.

Instead of the black combat armour she favoured outside of the ship, she was dressed in her Cerberus uniform. It was very likely she'd been called up on short notice, which would make anyone testy, but her expression remained calm and guarded. The only sign that suggested otherwise was the way she wrinkled her nose as she approached him.

The bouncers who were brazenly nudging each other as they eyed her form-hugging attire came forward like flies drawn to the scent of honey.

"Come pick up your troublemaker, pet?" The taller batarian drawled as he leaned casually against a wall. "He made quite a mess, but we've got him under watch, nice and easy. Night's still young, how about joining us for a couple of drinks, loosen yourself up for some personal engagements?"

His partner sniggered on cue and made a crude pumping motion with his hand. Slowly, Lawson turned around to face them, and for a whimsical moment, Shepard was glad he wasn't the object of her withering scorn this time. What came out of her mouth next, however, surprised the hell out of him.

"I'm here at Aria's personal request, as courtesy for her assistance with the work we had to do—work made needlessly difficult thanks to the riffraff that populate this station." She sniffed with disdain. "My superior officer was looking for some hard-earned R&R tonight. Piss-poor welcome you've shown him."

The batarian blinked all four eyes in disbelief.

"You've got to be shitting me, lady. Your friend here trashed a good part of the club! Not to mention—"

"Be grateful all he did was break some tables and kill a couple of krogans. Your décor needed the change and they probably deserved it." Lawson interrupted haughtily. "In our month-long stay, I've yet to see any evidence to Afterlife's claim of being Omega's most exclusive club. In fact, you should thank Commander Shepard for ridding you of your worst elements. If this keeps up, you might actually achieve that distinction."

It was an outrageous bluff, made convincing only by that exquisite upper-class snobbery few could pull off. The batarian was obviously out of his league, his mouth working soundlessly. But before he could get another word edgewise, Lawson cut in with ruthless timing.

"So don't dream of pushing the blame on us if you can't keep a tight rein on the kind of people you let into your premises. Consider that free advice. And if we receive anything remotely resembling a damage bill, you can be sure Aria will hear about it."

She turned towards Shepard in a smooth movement, the perfect personification of dismissal.

"Shall we go, Commander?"

It was all Shepard could do to stop from bursting into laughter. With effort, he wrestled on a straight face and said gravely, "Lead the way, Ms. Lawson."

They left the vicinity of Afterlife in decorous silence which gave plenty of time for his mind to wander. It was impossible not to notice the lush form that walked before him. Any man with heterosexual inclinations must be dead below the waist not to feel their blood quicken at the sight of Lawson, especially in that attire that left little to imagination.

This was the first time he felt comfortable admiring what was before him. He hadn't been inclined to indulge at her expense as long as they'd remained antagonistic. Thinking back on his behaviour a week ago, and how he'd persisted in breaking through her cool exterior almost made him ashamed. But as fast as that thought surfaced, indignation rose to combat it.

_I'm such a sorry ass. She offers one olive branch and I cave like a man lost in the desert, selling my soul for a drink._

He turned his eyes away in disgust. There was every reason to believe that she was trying to repair Cerberus's reputation tarnished by his antics just now. Right from the start, her cool disdain had been strangely familiar, a mantle he could wear comfortably like a pair of old Alliance fatigues. It was far preferable to the disarming goodwill that radiated from just about every other crewmember; something he had no idea what to do with. But most importantly, Lawson made it amply clear that she owed him nothing.

His mood became as dour as before when he arrived at that conclusion. The mental exercise absorbed all of his attention that when he finally looked up, Shepard realised that they were heading towards _Normandy_'s docking bay.

"I'm not ready to go back," he announced.

Lawson turned around, the dull red lighting of the dingy corridor imbuing her pale complexion with an unearthly glow.

"It's past midnight local time, and we're undocking at o-six-hundred tomorrow."

"I'll be there," he muttered as he prepared to walk away.

"Shepard, are you drunk?"

The concern in her voice brought him up short. For a second, he almost laughed, suspecting sarcasm at his expense until he realised he probably reeked of spilled liquor. Suddenly, he was inexplicably tired of all the second-guessing.

"Why do you care?"

The expression on her face seemed to say she'd have thought the answer would be obvious.

"It's unwise wandering around Omega drunk in the night."

He had half a mind still to simply walk away, but he was beginning to realise that he wasn't really inclined to wander around Omega the whole night drunk, or in this case, perfectly sober.

"That's not what I meant." He leaned against a bulkhead in a deceptively casual manner, ready to hunker down for a long conversation to the outward eye. "Why do _you_ care at all?"

Her frown carried more than a shade of exasperation when she digested his question.

"I've said it before. Regardless of Cerberus's investment in you, I spent two years of my life bringing you back. It may be my job to assist you with the mission, but that doesn't mean I don't have a personal interest to see you succeed."

"Really?" He gestured at the direction they came from. "What was that just now if not salvaging Cerberus' reputation after my fight?"

All this time, her eyes darted around to survey their surroundings, making sure they were the only ones in the vicinity. But he definitely detected a flash of a grimace as she raised her chin ever so slightly.

"That was to fix my mistake of undermining your authority. I don't make the same mistake twice." Crossing her arms, she continued firmly. "And for the record, I'm done jumping through hoops trying to prove my intentions. We'll be in each other's company far longer than either of us will prefer. If you're still not convinced by the end of the mission, chances are it won't matter because we'll all be dead."

As much as Shepard wanted to call her out on it, her assertions so far rang with the sound of truth. He was beginning to find out he could fault Lawson for any number of things, but lack of character integrity wasn't one of them. Still, he couldn't help but raised a sardonic eyebrow.

"That doesn't match with what you just said about helping me succeed."

Lawson made a sound of impatience.

"It's called a _suicide_ mission for a reason, Shepard. Extraction is secondary to the objective."

"So you don't believe we can survive past that? Doesn't sound like you to settle for less."

Lawson finally stopped her constant lookout, all sense of wariness and reservation abandoned.

"On what grounds should I believe it?" She studied him before she began pacing the breadth of the corridor, her cadence forming a brisk staccato with her footsteps. "Normally, I'd look to my commanding officer for guidance, but you haven't given me reason for confidence. Frankly, I've read your Alliance personnel file until I can quote it verbatim, but I've yet to see a glimpse of the man it describes." She shrugged. "Just empty promises and little more than that."

All of it was damningly true even if there were reasons she wasn't privy to. Shepard's nostrils flared in response.

"Did you think I could actually refuse your Illusive Man back then? I was disoriented, alone in a hostile space station, cut off from all communications. If you were me, what would you do?"

"Was that a rhetorical question or do I get a shot at answering?" she retorted.

It was his turn to be nonplussed. Finally, Shepard lifted his palm outwards in invitation. When she spoke again, her voice was low with suppressed frustration.

"I was ready to dismiss you as a lost cause when the Illusive Man showed me your file. But you put your life and career on the line to warn the galaxy about the Reapers. Because of that, he was convinced of the threat. He persuaded me that you'd understand setting aside differences for a greater good." Her eyes sought his unerringly. "Was he mistaken? Have you decided it's no longer worth the trouble?"

Shepard found he had nothing to say to her. The recent days had been a test of his resolve as he gritted his teeth to maintain the semblance of normalcy, the coherence of a competent command. It was an orchestrated dynamic that he detested, to the point he wanted nothing more than to tear down the whole masquerade. Sullenly, he stared at the dingy floor.

When it became evident that silence was the answer, Lawson turned away and threw her hands up in the air.

"Is that a yes? Why don't you come out and say it and we can stop wasting each other's time?" She gazed around, taking in their surroundings, the discoloured walls and piles of rubbish underfoot. "And why aren't we having this conversation back on the ship? Why the hell are we talking in a public corridor on Omega?"

Finally a question he could answer unequivocally.

"I told you I'm not ready to go back to the _Normandy_."

She swivelled back to face him.

"_Why?_"

Shepard gazed at her from lowered brows. The plea in her voice was unmistakable. All pretences were gone from her striking blue eyes—the studying looks, the impenetrable mask, the cold and distant personality. Perhaps it was time to stop the posturing. They had been doing that since the moment they met, neither willing to show any signs of weakness, and had gone nowhere all this time.

He leaned his head against the metal wall and slowly unlocked his knees, allowing his weight to pull him down.

"You're right." He exhaled as his thighs hit the floor. "I tried to back out of the agreement. Can't expect me not to. But your Illusive Man did a great job sewing up all my options. I tried to contact the Alliance again today. Managed to reach a colonel this time, the highest ranking personnel I could get to so far."

Lawson crossed her arms, but the furrow that appeared between her brows was the product of a mind trying to understand instead of chastise.

"What did he say?"

Shepard replied with hollow equanimity, "He refused to believe that I wasn't lying about my identity. Said he's entertaining my call anyway because he had explicit orders based on rumours I might still be alive. The Alliance would not be budging from a non-association policy where terrorists were concerned. In fact, I was ordered to turn myself in for psychological testing pending status reassessment. A reassessment, he hinted, would take years to complete. I was given ten days to comply. Failing which I'd be written off as going MIA in the heat."

From the corner of his eyes, Lawson looked down and shook her head. He gazed at her until he got her full attention.

"This is where you get to gloat. He was puzzled when I demanded to know what the Alliance was doing about the disappearing colonies. Nothing, he said. It was just pirate activity. Those colonists had to know what they were getting into relocating to the Terminus Systems. Ever wonder what it feels like to be shitted on by your own organisation? I do now."

She raised her head with an irritated toss, flicking dark hair from her face.

"Why on earth would I gloat? Nobody benefits from Cerberus being the only group to heed your warning. The stakes are too high to be saying 'I told you so'."

Shepard gave a puff of a laugh. "I must be so lucky you people thought it worthwhile spending two billion credits bringing me back then. Want to know why you haven't seen the man you read about? Your Illusive Man thinks he can throw me onto a vaguely familiar ship, stuff it full of people I've worked with and expect me to perform miracles. Too bad it doesn't work that way, eh?"

A faint sigh was the response as Lawson kneaded the bridge of her nose.

"The Illusive Man has his reasons which I don't presume to understand," she confessed quietly, as she approached the section of the corridor where he'd deposited himself. "Personally, I had no illusions working under you would be a breeze. After all, I'm part of the carrot, as opposed to the stick, that sews up your options." She crinkled her nose as she surveyed the floor. In the end, she settled for leaning against the wall beside him.

"What I didn't expect was how rocky things would be," she continued. "I'll admit I became a little obsessed with you during the Lazarus Project. I had to, to stay focused on the job. But after all this time, you still don't make sense to me, Shepard. So maybe the Illusive Man made a mistake. How is it supposed to work?"

He propped his elbows on top of his raised knees.

"You asked me if I was drunk. I downed two bottles of ryncol—didn't do squat. You people bring me back wrong and then parade me like I'm the cure to an indifferent galaxy. Well, I've got news for you. My shelf-life's expired two years ago. Everyone I've known has moved on. This body—it doesn't feel like…_me_. It's like I-I don't even feel like I'm human anymore."

There was brief silence, after which a deep intake of breath prefaced her slow but firm declaration.

"I won't apologise for the timeframe it took to bring you back. The process was as complicated as it was gruelling. But that dissonance you described was something I'd hope to prevent. Given a few more months, you wouldn't have needed biosynthetics at all." Here, her voice trailed off into a murmur, "Although I must say your reckless pursuit of performance upgrades doesn't help your case one bit…."

Shepard bared his teeth in a non-smile.

"I didn't become the first human spectre in a vacuum. It's the people around me that made it possible. That's all gone, no thanks to your boss. Your people still think I shit eezo because I'm Commander Shepard. Now the only option left is to become a killing machine. Damn straight I'll be the best there is. Wouldn't want the Illusive Man to realise he's throwing good money after the bad, would we?"

A long and terse moment followed his outburst. On his part, Shepard refused to see the reaction on Lawson's face. He'd never intended to pour his heart out like that, and he had to wonder if he'd made a fool of himself, or if she even cared.

"Get up," she announced suddenly.

He frowned.

"We're _not_ going back to the _Normandy_," she said, anticipating his protest, as she pushed herself away from the wall and began retracing their route. After a few steps, she turned around and crossed her arms in impatience. "Would you rather sit here till undock? What else could I possibly do that'd top bringing you back to life?"

Shepard couldn't help his brief bark of laughter. She was right, as before. Rising from the floor, he finally had enough presence of mind to check his neglected pistol. He'd gone into Omega this morning looking for trouble, without so much as a bullet-proof vest. Well, better late than never. Especially if they were going to take a jaunt on the station in the middle of the night.

The red glow that illuminated the winding claustrophobic corridors gradually gave way to sickly yellow lighting as they emerged onto the open concourses. The nature of Omega's crowd saw noticeable change this late in the day cycle. Hapless refugees and beggars were replaced by shifty-eyed ruffians, lounging carelessly against niches and bulkheads. What shops that remained open had guards stationed, semi-automatic weapons out in force. They walked beside each other with a calm and purposeful gait, watchful, but not drawing attention to themselves. On his part, Shepard tried as much as possible to use his body to keep Lawson out of sight from the riffraff.

"Remind me to requisition for something less eye-catching," she muttered as her hand moved to tug at her collar. He grunted wordlessly, taking it as cue to keep his own eyes from straying.

The concourses closed in to become labyrinthine corridors again as Lawson took him into areas areas that were new to him. They winded their way through maintenance hallways and atmospheric control stations, and into rickety cargo lifts and hidden stairwells housing rusty ladders, climbing upwards all the while. Signage became less and less frequent until they vanished entirely and Shepard lost track of what level they were on.

Finally, they emerged onto an open-air platform. A vast differential in air pressure somewhere created a gale-force wind that roared through the space. One side of the platform was wielded fast against a massive wall of solid rock. They were right against the skin of the hollowed out asteroid that formed the body of Omega. Safety protocols dictated that the rock barrier had to be twenty metres thick at least, but Omega wasn't known for its stellar engineering record. It was entirely possible a hull breach nearby was the source of the pressure change.

Lawson hugged the wall as much as possible as she led the way through the network of gantries. Light from structures far below threw long and deep shadows, revealing a rocky expanse that stretched steeply upwards and overhead into darkness. It seemed they weren't just on the skin of the station, but also near the top of the asteroid. Still, she led them inexorably upwards, navigating ladders slowly but surely towards the highest platform.

Deeply intrigued, Shepard followed wordlessly. This was a part of Omega he didn't know existed, and he had to wonder how she'd have stumbled onto this place. More than anything else, it brought home how little he knew of her compared to the databank's worth of information she had over him.

They climbed the last leg, the rock wall mere metres away from their backs. The wind blew continuously while they cleared the last rung of the ladder, lessened in intensity, but still strong enough to whip at hair and tug clothing. Lawson took it in stride, approaching a sharp turn ahead where a massive metal strut anchored to the rock above bisected the walkway, blocking the rest of the platform from view.

He was briefly disoriented when he bumped into her. She'd stopped just after the turn, her attention on a figure at the far end of the platform. It had human proportions and joint alignments, which meant it was either human or asari. Mystified, he turned back to Lawson who stood her ground with an undecipherable expression. Was this someone he was supposed to meet? When she showed no inclination to clarify, he took a step forward. So far the figure didn't seem to realise that it was being observed.

Almost imperceptibly, the figure walked to the very edge of the platform, both hands gripping the waist-high railing at arm's length. He was close enough now to see the feminine form and the head full of backswept blue appendages. She was wearing the garb of a pole dancer, probably just knocked off after the night's work.

The asari became aware of their presence at this moment, head turning back to reveal a beautiful tear-steaked face with wide eyes that grew bigger at his proximity. It was only then did Shepard realise her intentions. Before he could do anything, she bent double over the railing and threw herself off the platform.

The wind snatched away his scream before it left his mouth, the same way his limbs braced for a dash one second too late. After a heartbeat, he ran to the edge of the platform, the blue glow of biotics outlining his limbs, and peered down into the station depths. Free-flying debris and industrial smog hid almost everything below from view, a deceptively slow-moving curtain of grey whorls from which stained structures jutted out of. It was as if the asari never existed.

In a fit of anger, he whirled around. Lawson was in the process of walking to him, her face an impassive mask.

"Why didn't you stop her?"

She peered over the edge before murmuring almost pensively.

"Wasn't expecting to find anyone here, though I wouldn't go so far as to call it a stroke of luck…"

With supreme effort, Shepard clamped down on his rage.

"You _knew_ what she was about to do. _Why the hell didn't you stop her_!"

Her nostrils flared subtly at his outburst.

"Are you asking why I'm not trying to stop everyone that's tried to kill themselves on this station? This place is one of Omega's best kept secrets, a popular suicide spot for those who prefer—a more traditional way to end their lives. An average of seven people jump off this platform every day for reasons ranging from as banal as heartbreaks to ruined lives no one bats an eyelid over. How many do you think I can stop, and would I be even doing them a favour?"

"Don't strawman the issue and extrapolate it to encompass the goddamn galaxy," Shepard snapped. "You could've stopped her, buy time for us to find out what she wanted to end her life over. This is Omega, ruled by might of arm. I can't save every soul that gets caught in it, but when I see one, I'm damn well going to do something about it. And in all likelihood, there'll be something I _can_ do!"

"Why start with her? Why not play guardian angel to the whole godforsaken station? Isn't it a day late and a dollar short to decide you'd begin solving problems when they become suicide cases? That's a rather capricious yardstick, don't you think?" She shot back and then lifted a hand to push windblown hair away and face him directly. "Look, I'm not going to argue over semantics. My point is it's not our fight. Saving the helpless on Omega will not stop the Collectors or shed light on the incoming Reaper invasion. Those are our priorities; if we fail, nothing here matters."

Shepard stared hard at her. His immediate impulse was to shout her down, an urge he had control physically with clenched fists. But as soon as that moment passed, he had to grudgingly admit she had a point.

"Then why bring me here to show me all this?"

"The tragedy here isn't that she decided to take her own life. It's how she's lost along with it the chance to make anything worthwhile of her existence. You said it; her problem was likely trivial enough that we could've solved it. Unfortunately, she doesn't get a second chance." Here, her gaze seemed to pierce through him. "You do."

He narrowed his eyes at which she lifted a peremptory finger.

"For all it's worth, I'm sorry about the personal confusion you're going through. But I'm _not_ sorry for bringing you back to life. Contractually-speaking, you're only bounded for the Collector mission. The Reapers remain a threat that will require all the galaxy's resources to defeat. Your work has only just begun."

"Provided we survive your Illusive Man's suicide mission," he pointed out in vexed irritation.

She raised her brow to that in a deeply-ironic manner.

"Perhaps it's time to make good your promise. From what I've read of your files, getting us back alive still wouldn't count as your most outrageous accomplishment."

Shepard responded with a wry grimace. After taking one last look below, he retraced his steps around the corner where the gale-force wind was much abated. The act of sitting down now felt far less like a concession to weariness and more like catching his breath while figuring out what next to do. She joined him without a fuss this time, her legs hanging freely in space, beyond the safety of the railing beside his, in a deceptively carefree manner.

"I didn't expect to find anyone here in case you were wondering," she cleared her throat, her eyes staring at the distant surface of the rocky asteroid. "_That_ scene wasn't planned for your benefit. I'm afraid to say the possibility that you'd feel your humanity at stake didn't cross my mind either."

"Backing out of my agreement will be the least I'd do if I thought you'd planned for it." He turned to look at her with an intent that belied his mild tone. "And I think we've established that empathy isn't your strong suit."

As far as he could see, the accusation failed to faze her.

"More like why would a fish have any reason to think about the water it lives in?" came the murmur. "I didn't anticipate your problem because it's something I've had to live with all my life."

Shepard frowned at her, suspecting sarcasm. She continued staring into the distance until the sound of the wind was all that filled the space.

"I don't have a mother," she announced firmly after a while, as though she'd arrived at a decision. "My father was a rich megalomaniac who designed and assembled my genetic template down to the individual nucleotide. His ideal daughter was a perfect human specimen. Superhuman strength, senses and reflexes, a greatly extended lifespan, top of the percentile intellect—nothing was left to chance. That practice went on well after I was born. Every medical procedure was for my good, I was told, even as I wondered if I was born wrong."

She shook her head. There was no knowing if the gesture was made in deprecation with her hair falling free to cover her expression.

"He kept me locked in a tower, with no peers apart from a boy two years older than me. He was a cleaner's son. I learned I had to watch my strength when I broke his wrist during an arm-wrestling match. This and other incidents taught me how my body worked. The _whys_ came much later. But along with everything else, it wasn't enough."

Faintly, she sighed, a gentle release of air that was quickly snatched away by the turbulent atmosphere. Shepard was half-inclined to scoff at her outrageous claims, but Lawson had proven herself to be truthful to a fault. There was no denying her capabilities would give any lesser mortal a lifetime's worth of inferior complex—from her consummate ease swapping between the roles of a combat operative and a ship's executive officer to the extensive medical knowledge and expertise she possessed.

"Nothing I did pleased my father." Lawson continued at a clipped pace, not once turning to gauge his reaction. "A test done well was rewarded with a harder test, whether it was in classrooms, labs, on treadmills or operating theatres. I… gave up when I reached my teens. I had to do something or be under his control for the rest of my life."

As confessions went, it couldn't get more barebones than this. She made no attempt to embellish her claims, just enough examples to ground them in reality. No, it wasn't farfetched to believe she was being entirely honest. Entranced by the story as much as her delivery, Shepard gently prompted, "What did you do?"

"I ran away," she replied matter-of-factly. "It almost ended in disaster. I hadn't anticipated how much of a control freak my father was. He saw me as the basis for his 'dynasty' and he'd rather see me dead if it meant I'd be free of him. As usual, hindsight's twenty-twenty."

She finally turned around to look at him. He couldn't help his surprise at the stark bitterness in her voice. "I'm not free. I can never be. Every time I accomplish something, I'd wonder if it was because of how he made me. There's no escaping that the gifts will always play a part."

It was the most unguarded he'd seen of her, and Shepard found he couldn't tear his gaze away. Lawson's eyes were an angry blue, raw in their intensity. It was an incongruous realisation even as he felt his awareness slip away under the strength of the moment.

With effort, he shifted his attention away. The breaking of eye-contact snapped tension like a taut string.

"I take it your Cerberus involvement is somehow linked to this?" he cleared his throat and hazarded gruffly.

"They offered me sanctuary. My father used to be one of their major backers. He cut off all ties after I joined them. Lucky for me." Lawson shrugged as she moved to stand up.

"So perhaps you can understand why it didn't cross my mind that you'd have a problem," she said as she rubbed her palms to rid of dust. "If it's any consolation—who or what we are may make for sleepless nights, but in the face of galactic extinction, none of that matters. It's what we do that counts. The fact that we're made better than anyone else means failure is doubly devastating."

Shepard made no attempts to get up as he studied her speculatively. It was a harsh statement, but one that seemed to sit comfortably on Lawson's shoulders. He was beginning to see why and how her experiences would shape her radical outlook in life. But her words also carried signs of unrealistic expectations, made more interesting in the light of her strong cynicism.

"That's only true if you think the war can be won going up against the Reapers one-on-one," he was compelled to say. "When push comes to shove, this will be a fight that'll require everyone's effort. You might as well stop beating yourself over it; that superiority card is not going to make for much leverage."

Lawson's lips thinned visibly. "Perhaps. But you cannot discount the effect on morale when we make a mistake."

"The kind of mistakes you're talking about usually takes a committee to achieve," he pointed out and because he couldn't help himself, continued with, "Besides, you've got a bigger problem if the accountability of say-an organisation lies entirely in the hands of one person."

"The same could be said about the commanding officer of a ship and said commander ignoring all offers of advice. If you're such a big advocator of teamwork, that might be a good place to start," she retorted and then muttered with a shake of her head. "God, what is it with you and riling people up? Even if the Illusive Man does have your options sewn up, the crew knows nothing about this. The credit you earn from the ground is genuine."

"Present company excluded," he stated flatly.

"That hasn't bothered you before." She pointed out in irritation. "And in this instance, my opinion doesn't matter. It's my job to scrutinise you and everything about you. I didn't spend all this time and effort bringing you back just to watch you fail. And as much as I hate to admit, you have a quality that compels soldiers to follow you into fire. So stop bloody wasting it!"

Shepard couldn't help his smile as he clambered to his feet.

_And as usual, she's right again._

He couldn't discount the admiration that came along with the frustration this time. Lawson pulled no punches. While she was fully capable of subterfuge, she chose to stand up to him one-on-one. He was beginning to think that he liked this executive officer and spy that Cerberus had saddled him with very much.

Her sobering reminder that his problems paled in comparison to the possibility of galactic extinction also struck home. Sure, it wasn't quite the same world he'd woke up to, but at least he had a purpose, one challenging enough that success wasn't guaranteed, even with the new tools he had at hand. For the first time since he'd crawled off that examination table on Lazarus Station, Shepard could finally see a vista of possibilities again.

Lawson was regarding him with a puzzled look when he finally returned his attention to her. Heaving a cautious sigh, she said slowly, "There's no need for any of what we shared tonight to be common knowledge. If it helps, my door is open should you need to talk. And I'm sure the Illusive Man has more important things to worry about. So… do we have an agreement?"

Shepard didn't bother to conceal his laughter anymore. How much did it take for her to offer something like that, he wondered. It was a humbling experience; at a time when all he wanted was to be given a pat on the back for his sacrifices, he ended up getting a harsh and entirely justified wake up call instead.

Time to snap of his funk. He'd wallowed in it longer than he'd thought possible. Truth was he was getting sick of himself. But it'd be a very short epiphany unless there was something to stop him from such self-indulgence again.

"On one condition."

"What is it?"

"That you always give me the benefit of your thoughts. Without my asking for it."

Lawson frowned. There was definitely a wary expression on her face.

"Is this about trying to win me over again? Look, it's enough that you do your job. We'll have more than we can handle in the incoming months."

She began to make her way down the gantry before turning back to see that he hadn't moved, an expectant look on his face.

"What? Oh—fine, you have it," she muttered. "Although it's certainly nothing I'd lose sleep over it and neither should you."

Shepard couldn't help his grin despite her brusque delivery. Funny how in the span of a few hours, he'd had his head pulled out of his ass and handed to him by the amazing woman in front of him.

In another time, he would've balked at the glimmering of the idea that was taking root in his mind. Every soldier knew that a man with nothing to lose was the most dangerous foe on the field. It took a lot of mental adjustment to recognise he was one such man now. They had a common goal, Cerberus and himself. But once that was over, all bets were off.

As Lawson had made him realise, the crew's regard of him was indeed genuine. Plus the _Normandy SRII_ was a marvel of engineering, capable of fielding missions months away from any space port. The assets he had in hand might just be enough to release him from the Illusive Man's clutches when their ways part.

But for that to happen, he had to secure one crucial link. For the first time tonight, Lawson was wrong. If there was anyone on board the ship whose goodwill he absolutely had to earn, it was her's, he decided as he drank in her lithe and graceful form leading the way back to the ship. The fact that he looked forward to it beyond the purpose of organising a mutiny made it all the more sweeter.

Definitely something worth losing sleep over.


End file.
